


The Pull

by Biodiversity (SoraSato)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe - Magic, F/M, M/M, Multi, Not Politically Correct, Shameless Smut, WIP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:06:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 59,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26211631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoraSato/pseuds/Biodiversity
Summary: Erotic adventures of a Trevelyan Inquisitor and the vanished Hero of Ferelden.This is a massive WIP dating back to 2017.WARNING, IT'S NOT FOR EVERYONE!!!:  Contains offensive language, absolutely politically incorrect, and there is no way to tell whether it will ever be finished or not.P.S. I'm fine with all kinds of comments ;)If you want to take ideas or anything, please ask first!
Relationships: Male Inquisitor/Female Hero of Ferelden
Kudos: 3





	The Pull

The new workshop at Skyhold smelled nicely of wood shavings and looked already well-used.

It was getting dark, but a single man was still working there, deeply focused on making a wood plank as smooth as possible.

The late worker was very tall, well-built, broad-shouldered and dressed in simple casual clothes and gloves that made him indistinguishable from the many helpers of the citadel, his hair and much of his face was hidden under a dusty rag that prevented the man from inhaling saw dust. His moves were confident and deft, and he was working in good spirits.

While he was carefully checking a side of the plank he was working on, a scout came in and solemnly saluted him.

The man cast a quick glance at the newcomer and mumbled:

"Ah, good you came by. Be a good sport and light me a lamp. It's over there, on the shelf... Thanks. Put it here, on the table."

And he resumed tinkering with the plank.

The scout cleared his throat and announced:

"Your Worship, I've got news from our dwarven contacts. Two days ago, the tunnel collapsed..."

The man's icy clear eyes glistened from under the turban's shadow. He removed the lower portion of the scarf that had been covering his face, and the scout saw the man's full lips twisting into a discontented grimace.

The scout cringed involuntarily, because even if the man could hide his face, he made no attempt at hiding his impressive presence. He exuded the raw power of a large beast, and, when not softened by the sight of his handsome features, he could be plain scary.

"How come the tunnel collapsed?" he growled in a low baritone that under other circumstances would melt hearts of many Orlesian ladies.

The scout cleared his throat and made an effort to steady himself.

"It was too fragile, your Worship, and our dwarven experts could not reach the critical point in time."

The Inquisitor sighed. His piercing eyes reflected quick brainwork.

"Casualties?" he asked briskly.

"None, your Wor…"

But the man impatiently interrupted him.

"Stop it already with this 'Worship' nonsense! A simple 'Ser' would be enough."

The scout hesitated. Then he dared:

"But you are the Chosen of Andraste herself! It is blasphemous to deny such honor…"

The Inquisitor rubbed his face in frustration. When he spoke, his voice was even but contained traces of annoyance:

"Are you a preacher or a spy? We are here for the sole reason of stopping the threat to the lives of our families and loved ones by **_any_** means available to us. Be those means of human or supernatural origin, I couldn't care less. So, if you disagree with it, you may as well go find yourself some more agreeable companions and pray for our success in another, safer place…"

No sooner had he uttered this, when the Inquisition spymaster Leliana materialized in the doorway.

"Your Worship, please be kinder to my people, for they do the best they can and more," she intervened hastily.

The Inquisitor's cold stare shifted to her.

"Just make sure that your men maintain their priorities straight," he told her and put aside his jack-plane.

Leliana dismissed the scout with an impatient gesture and came closer to the man.

He took a wooden rule and a red pencil and set to put some markings on the plank.

After a while he said, his tone calm and business-like, his eyes still on the red markings:

"So, we are significantly delayed. Are there any other entrances to the mine?"

Leliana shook her head, her face wrought in sorrow.

"We'll have to dig up that tunnel, I'm afraid. The dwarven experts said so."

The man sighed.

"So be it. Anyway, we'll just need a hole large enough to squeeze through. Let us meet with our guides on the other side. Ask the Aeducans to provide us with supplies that wouldn't fit through the manhole. I presume the dwarven engineers are reliable, because I'd hate to die crushed by tons of rubble."

Leliana nodded vigorously.

"They are the best."

The Inquisitor arched his eyebrow ironically and turned to the spymaster. A part of the scarf that now hung freely from the turban was shadowing the man's left eye, so only his prominent cheekbone, his gaunt cheek and his sparkling right eye were visible to the woman.

"The same best who let the tunnel collapse?" he mocked her and shook his head. "You're ever so absolute… And what do you do when you want to have sex?"

Leliana winced. One of the nastiest habits of Phoebus Trevelyan, the holder of such distinguished titles as the Inquisitor and the most holy Herald of Andraste, in her opinion, was this occasional artificial bluntness that he had picked up either from his fellow peasant Free Marchers, or from local workmen he had been befriending lately at Skyhold. And he was so irreverent toward the sacred titles entrusted to him!

But she would never give in to such a lousy attempt at driving her off balance.

"I would go and do it," she retorted tersely, staring defiantly at the man.

But he already lost his interest, turned his head to the plank and shrugged his shoulders.

"With a stiff," he mumbled under his nose, sighing.

"Your Worship!" exclaimed Leliana resentfully. "I'm not here to discuss my private affairs nor to be the object of your insults!"

The Inquisitor turned to her one last time. He had already developed a bad taste in his mouth just looking at the spymaster and the taste grew worse by the minute.

"Leliana, get lost. Your piousness irks me."

The woman pursed her lips and uttered:

"Just don't be late for the council meeting. It's at seven."

And she stormed out much to the Inquisitor's relief.

He sighed and threw the pencil on the table in irritation.

Then he took off his apron, threw it in the same direction, brushed the sawdust from his clothes, and reaffixed the lower part of the scarf so that it could cover his face again. This improvised fashion item, aside from providing a protection against dust had an additional bonus of shielding him from immodest stares. The man liked it that way – a faceless Herald would not be associated too much with the Trevelyans, and he generally tried to avoid dragging his family name into this arguable Inquisition business more than was necessary.

Unfortunately, he thought, this disguise did not work against the omnipresent scouts of the Inquisition spymaster, the Left Hand of the Divine, the notorious Leliana.

Having adjusted his clothes, he briskly strolled out of the workshop in large springy pace of a massive dust-cat, closed the door behind him and directed his steps toward his quarters, where he hoped to enjoy a few precious moments of privacy before the council would blow a new portion of unsavory news into his face.

After a quick bath, he settled on the balcony of his quarters and for a while just mindlessly watched the evening clouds flow by slowly. The setting sun colored his blond hair a glowing ginger tint and made his dark brows, lashes and stubble bring out a reddish undertone. In this lighting, his favorite midnight-blue suit looked rich black, and small silver buttons on his doublet were blazing with copper.

The common gossip at Skyhold suspected him of various flaws and sins, for he had never been seen around the citadel with neither women nor men. He let people think whatever they wished to, without giving the subject a second thought.

However, today's outburst with the spymaster worried him somehow. Not because, if overheard, it would naturally stir another round of juicy gossip blowing out of proportion his mention of sex. Undoubtedly, it would transform from a simple mention to a proposal, scandalously turned down by the lemon, a.k.a. the Pious Bitch. But this was not the cause of his discontent.

The Inquisitor frowned and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Damn it, why would he offend the woman in the first place? Why would he still care for the kinks of her personality? Didn't he resign after the failure of all his initial attempts at loosening her?

Generally, he liked women enough that he did not care if they were old or young, fat or skinny; this trait of his probably deriving from the fact that he had five sisters and a beautiful mother caring for him in his young days… But this last week he was just not himself… Maybe _that_ was it? His position finally getting its strain on him…

What if **_he_** needed sex? His body instantly responded to the thought. So this was the answer. He needed joy.

He thought it over. The uncalled-for hiatus with the tunnel gave him the necessary pause in affairs, and if tonight's council doesn't surprise him in any bad way, he could call it a break and finally take off from this Fortress of Solitude…

The best way was to go to Val Royeaux, undergo all imaginable spa procedures and choose himself a mistress for a week or two among the pampered idle empty-headed bimbos occupying the posh verandas of luxurious restaurants of the Harbor District, or strolling leisurely across the Summer Bazaar, maybe find someone at that forthcoming ball at the Empress's... This sounded good...

**-O-**

From the street, the spa entrance did not look particularly flashy, there was only one guard at the door, but the Inquisitor was confident that his Orlesian acquaintances were right giving the establishment exclusively high recommendations.

In the lobby, an idle woman with a lush reddish-blond mane of hair instantly caught his attention. At the first glance, it was not clear whether she was a worker here or just a bored customer. This beautiful and well-groomed woman was sitting on a sofa and reading a book when he entered.

She cast a lightning-quick glance at the man, and it was if he was instantly appraised and weighted.

Leisurely, the woman put her book aside and rose from the banquette.

"Welcome to our salon," she uttered in a warm musical voice with a touch of a pleasant smile in the corners of her lips.

The Inquisitor assessed her head to toe in his turn and smiled.

"I already feel welcome indeed, milady. Is it safe to assume that you will be my host here today?"

Her piercing blue-green eyes sparked with amusement.

"In a way," she purred and offered him a seat on the same sofa where she had been reading.

When the man seated himself, the woman gave him a fancy-looking cardboard sheet and said:

"My name is Akasha. You may look at our list of services and choose from it. Note that it is for reference purposes only. If there is something that you wish that’s not listed there, we can make additional arrangements for you."

The Inquisitor took the sheet from her without looking at it at first, his sight fixating on the woman in front of him.

"Akasha…" he mused aloud. "What a wonderful and rare name!... 'Space'… Where I come from, the space is so vast that it possesses its own personality…"

The woman smiled approvingly, having cast a more attentive look at the customer.

Clearly, he scored a point with her. Obviously, it was too soon to capitalize on it, but the Inquisitor knew well how to put people on their good side with him. He felt that the woman was his peer in the Game and felt a tinge of exciting anticipation igniting in his chest. He congratulated himself on having this idea of coming here.

She was patiently waiting for him to have a look at the list of their services, and the man finally lowered his gaze.

After a brief scanning of the paper, he pointed his finger at a paragraph at the bottom of the page.

"This package will suit me fine, milady. I entrust myself into your lovely hands."

The woman Akasha inclined her head, neither confirming nor disproving his cue, and ushered him farther into the bowels of the establishment.

The spa proved to be way more than a mere massage parlor, and the Inquisitor exited it in far better mood than he had initially anticipated.

At the lobby, he approached the beautiful receptionist and kissed her hand.

"I am indefinitely grateful to you, milady, for the magic that you perform here. I am completely satisfied with all your services, albeit a tad disappointed that you, milady, were not participating at any stage."

The woman smiled like a well-fed cat.

"Ah, Sire, but your needs were too urgent to require my direct involvement. I trust that all of them were met to the full extent."

The Inquisitor grinned and bowed to the woman, acknowledging her mastery and graciousness.

"Indeed. I thank you, milady, and bid you good night."

The evening air was balmy and fragrant, and the dinner at a classy restaurant did not suddenly seem so vital, therefore, the Inquisitor went to his temporary residence wonderfully relaxed to sleep off all the ebbs and flows of his long day.

**-O-**

At the first rays of sunlight, he woke up, as was customary for him in Skyhold, and remembered that Val Royeaux sported a splendid lagoon with clear warm water all year round. To be here and not to seize the opportunity to enjoy all the city's best attractions seemed like a crime, and the man resolutely grabbed a towel.

It was still very early, and the morning breeze was fresh and cool, carrying the unmistakable smells of algae and salty water. Seagulls were already crying high in the skies, searching for breakfast, and, as the Inquisitor was approaching the quay, he heard their cries mingling with smaller sounds of gentle wash and creaking of wooden riggings on fishing boats.

The salty air grew mixed with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, and the man wondered what kind of café would be open at this hour.

But when he started to descend the stairs leading to the waters of the lagoon, he spotted a figure of a woman sitting on the stairs and holding a cup with a brown brew in it. So this was the actual source of the aroma, and not an early merchant...

The woman was basking in the golden rays of the morning light, obviously enjoying the moment.

Trevelyan quietly descended to her level and turned to look into her face.

Unexpectedly, he was faced with the familiar beautiful gal with soft reddish-blonde hair falling to her shoulders, with the same exquisite regular features, lovely full lips, and serene blue-green eyes that he had seen the day before at the spa lobby.

Her gaze flicked as she cast him a momentary look before returning to the contemplation of the morning sea, and the man understood that she recognized him as well.

"Your coffee smells nice," he said smiling lightly, "and I have an impression that I've seen you yesterday."

Her full lips stretched into a lazy cat-like smile.

"Why, yes, I have that impression also."

She did not make any attempt at continuing the conversation, but the Inquisitor was very pleased with this unanticipated encounter. She possessed this remarkable presence that he had enjoyed so much on their first meeting, and now, in the morning sun, she was positively radiant with good health, good humor and the simple joy of just being where she was at the moment. She was not jumping out of her skin to please him. Her lucid gaze acknowledged his outstanding looks, recognized her own pleasure at watching him but her friendly attitude made it clear that if he allowed any unpleasantness, he would be dealt with accordingly, looks or no looks. She had... the man tasted the word pleasurably in his mouth – character.

"I remember," he grinned. "Your name is Akasha."

The woman smiled.

"Indeed."

By the way she said it, it became obvious that she remembered exactly who he was, everything he had ordered at the spa and maybe even the details of his bill.

"Mind if I undress here?" the man asked, throwing his towel on the stairs.

She sipped from her cup and shrugged her shoulders. Her lips curled in an amused grin.

"Not at all."

Trevelyan kicked off his shoes, threw down his light silk summer jacket, his pants and all his smallclothes, leaving only a tight bandage on his left hand, then, smiling, winked to the woman and leapt into water.

The water was cool, almost chilly, but it effectively removed all traces of lasting sleepiness.

The man came up to the surface and swam swiftly far from the shore, his powerful strokes taking him farther and farther into the sea.

When he decided to return, he could not see the woman on the stairs and decided that she'd left, but no sooner than he thought so he spotted a head in the water. She was there, swimming like an otter.

Trevelyan smiled but decided against invading her privacy and headed to the quay.

There, he climbed the stone front, took his towel and inspected two heaps of clothes in front of him.

Judging by the woman's pile, she went swimming in her chemise...

The Inquisitor had imagination good enough to make him smile at the idea.

He picked up his clothes, spotted an empty cup nearby, dressed and left.

The day rolled in its course, the imperial city readily offering its attractions like a harlot would offer all her possessions to a promising client.

For the dinner, Trevelyan chose an attire worthy of his title, and his gorgeous tall frame with broad shoulders and thin waist, as well as his blonde hair, clear eyes under surprisingly dark brows, salient cheeks and sensual lips drew the attention of absolutely all women around.

He passed an agreeable evening of a socialite and went to bed in a good company.

But next morning, he awoke before dawn and smiled at the idea of an early morning at the sea front.

Quietly, he slipped out of bed, dressed and took his towel; then he crept into the kitchens and kindled a small fire.

The trickiest part was to find grains of coffee but he finally managed that.

He poured a wealthy handful into the coffee grinder and grind the beans into fine dust.

The water was already coming to boil, so he poured the coffee dust into a copper ibrik, added spices and filled the pot with boiling water.

Then he let the coffee simmer over warm coals and finally removed it from heat.

The next task was to find out where kitchen maids stored cups, but soon enough, the man found the cups' hiding place.

Balancing two closed cups and a saucer with cookies on a hanging tray, Trevelyan slipped out of the residence in the direction of the quay.

The woman found her chosen spot not only occupied, but the man took her idea of drinking coffee a step further.

The whole area smelled of a mixture of fragrances, coffee mingling with cloves, cardamom and cinnamon and sweet undertones of rose.

She stopped in her tracks. For a minute, she was just observing the man, a private smile playing in the corners of her lips...

Just when she decided to leave the intruder alone, suddenly, he spoke out loud without turning his head to her:

"May I ask you to join me here? I need your opinion on the taste of cardamom that I added on a whim to the coffee," he sighed lightly and added, turning to her with a warm grin on his lips, "Where I come from, small niceties of life are very rare... Please indulge me."

The woman thought it over and slowly started to descend the stairs, hiding her amused grin.

When she leveled with him, the man smiled brightly and said:

"You must pardon me, milady, for I'm just a lousy tourist here. I stole your lovely idea of a morning coffee at the sea front. But no worries, in a week's time or less I'll be gone."

His speech did not leave her impressed, to the contrary of any expectations, but still she asked in a polite tone:

"A soldier of the imperial army, or that of the Duke's?"

Trevelyan grinned, content that she did not guess it right, and gestured to her, offering a place next to him.

"Neither, milady. Would you care to take a sip of my brew or you'd rather stick to yours? These apple cinnamon rolls are also for grabs – it's no good to drink your coffee on a bare stomach."

The woman smiled. The intruder completely destroyed her morning ritual. But she was curious as to what this Maker-sent walking disaster supposed to mean, so she nodded, graciously accepting the cup and the cookie.

***

He insisted on walking her to the salon, and they spent another joyful half-hour strolling through a market full of fruit, veggies, and pickles, milk, cheese and freshly-caught fish, home-made wine, live chicken, pottery and straw hats.

The woman's companion was silent most of the time, staying curious and enjoying what he was seeing and smelling around him, never leaving his charge out of his sight. She moved with ease between the stalls, lingering over ripe fruit, smiling to merchants and keeping track of her escort from the corner of her eye.

At the doorstep to the salon, Trevelyan produced a shiny red apple from his pocket and offered it to the woman, smiling.

"Thank you for a lovely morning, milady," he said cheerfully. "Take this for a snack later in the afternoon..."

She smiled, took the apple and, having nodded to him gratefully, went inside.

Another evening was running its course, as Trevelyan was deciding on picking company for the dinner. Sure, there were stunners among his friends, but all failed to occupy his thoughts tonight.

His thoughts kept floating back to his morning companion, the spa hostess with the radiant smile…

The Inquisitor realized he liked her attitude best of all people surrounding him on a daily basis. She emitted a very comfortable feeling of being herself and enjoying herself at that; she would allow no bullshit, no crap, would not give in to the outward appearances; she was fair. Confident, but so open and curious. And that heavenly glow her smile emitted...

He appreciated how she reacted to his intrusion – she was both very outspoken in her displeasure and at the same time she was completely accepting the new situation. He wondered what she was like on a daily basis, in the mornings, in the evenings, at night, sad or joyous, hungry or satisfied, what was her skin like between the sheets, what sounds she produced… It was so worth finding out…

When he entered, it was the end of the workday, and she was folding fresh towels.

She gave him an attentive gaze and a cool smile.

The Inquisitor sized her up anew. She was good. Today, her curvy silhouette was clad in a simple dark green dress with a contrasting choker of bright turquoise. And, most prominently, she didn't give off that tacky feeling of an escort; she was refreshingly wholesome, but also tantalizingly gracious and smolderingly sensuous in her every simple gesture.

"We are closing, Sire," she said with inflections just as he liked it – not too apologetic, more matter-of-factly, but with a polite tinge of small regret. "Please come back tomorrow."

He smiled broadly.

"Gladly, milady. But I came for another reason."

She stopped folding towels and looked at him neutrally, expecting further explanation.

The Inquisitor came closer.

"Pardon me my bluntness, milady, but I was wondering if you would like to accompany me to a dinner tonight. It is a lovely evening, and I would hate it if you missed it."

She narrowed her laughing eyes and said, smiling:

"If you are asking for escort, we have just the girls you need…"

The Inquisitor looked her straight in the eyes and said softly:

"If I wanted an escort I would've said so. But I'd like to have dinner with you, milady."

She arched her brow and laughed, amused:

"First, all my mornings now start with you, and here you are stalking me at the workplace. Should I become concerned?"

Trevelyan laughed and shook his head vigorously.

"Oh no. I'm harmless enough."

She grinned despite herself.

"So, now you are offering a dinner just like this, out of the blue?"

He nodded.

"Just like this. But not out of the blue. I spent a few wonderful mornings in your good company, and now I would like to thank you for them."

She smiled again.

"Does this mean a farewell party?"

Trevelyan shook his head.

"Just showing my gratitude."

She sighed.

"How nice of you. I thank you for the offer, Sire."

He grinned.

"Is it a 'yes'?"

Involuntary, she scoffed and put a stack of folded towels on the corner of the table.

"It is a thank you," she responded, not giving in and resuming her chore.

The Inquisitor smacked his lips. His eyes glistened delightedly.

"May I at least ask you why you never asked my name, fair Akasha? We've spent a lot of time chatting together..."

The woman looked at him and smiled.

"I would prefer to leave it at 'the stranger at the quay,' but since I will undoubtedly find it out one way or another, then pray tell me your name, Sire."

The man slapped his forehead a bit theatrically. All those mornings they... well, they just exchanged a few quiet words or watched the glittering morning surf in mutual silent complicity and bathed in the lagoon, enjoying the cool salty water... It had never occurred to him that, in the woman's perception, his namelessness could add to the charm of the moment.

The Inquisitor parted his arms apologetically.

" I beg your pardon, fair Akasha. This was carelessness on my part, I was as thick as a Kirkwall gate..."

Her lively gaze sparkled with laughter.

"Now that's some thickness...!"

The man shrugged his shoulders.

"I never claimed I was an ace at the Game..."

She looked at him again and leaned on her arms against the tabletop.

Her stare was direct and slightly ironic.

"No such claims? Good."

And she went back to her work.

Quietly, he observed her deft movements for a few moments. There was something in this woman… A self-assurance, an ease of movement… There was more to her than mere looks… He was attracted to her and felt very comfortable around her... And the tone of her words did not suggest any finality, any doors closing. She was just provoking him to see his reaction...

Then he said softly:

"You seem larger than your position here, in this spa, of all places! When I first came here, I was hoping to get a relief from my daily issues and I did get it. I did not really care who were people servicing me. But then I saw you the next morning with a cup in your hand, contemplating the sea... It was such a peaceful moment... I know, I barged into your privacy like a bronto, but you inspired me and I just could not keep my thoughts off you. It was a great pleasure to invent new ways of making coffee this week. And today, after the morning, I continued with the rest of my plans, but as the day went on I realized that out of all people I would most gladly spend my evening with the lady from the quay."

She looked at him. This time her eyes lingered on him, reading him...

So he was right about opening up, it did stir her.

Akasha smiled and mockingly narrowed her lively eyes.

"No one in the whole Val Royeaux except for a washed-up spa hostess? Doesn't it sound a bit pitiful?"

The Inquisitor laughed and probed her with his attentive gaze.

"Touché. I'm ready to give it a try," he said calmly, still letting depth shine through his simple words, gracefully leaving the door open for her.

She nodded in agreement.

"What's your name then?" she asked naturally. And he was rewarded with warmth that her words emitted.

"Phoeb."

"Short for Phoebus. 'The Bright One.' A good name, and very appropriate. Phoebus… do you realize how many men offer me daily to go out with them?"

The question was asked nonchalantly, with no intention to hurt or to brag, just a playful quirk in their conversation.

The Inquisitor shrugged his massive shoulders.

"No idea," he said frankly. "A lot?"

The woman shook her head. Her attentive eyes rested on him.

"Why should you of all people be different?"

The man looked the woman right in the eye.

"I don't care for the other men, Akasha. I'm not here for a little extra. It may sound callous, but I can get it anywhere."

Akasha sighed and pointed him to the stack of towels.

"Are you capable of carrying this?"

He smiled.

"Just say where to."

He took the plushy stack and followed her into the bowels of the spa complex. In thirty minutes, he was wondering at how much work was done outside of his knowing, at how much effort it required to keep the place operating.

Finally, his acquaintance exclaimed:

"And now it's done! So, you had plenty time to change your mind, dear sir. Now, did you?"

The Inquisitor took her hand and kissed it. Truth be told, he would press her to a wall and start kissing her on her sweet mouth, ruffling her soft hair and caressing her silky skin, regardless of what he had said earlier. He liked her more and more with each passing minute…

He swallowed and said, smiling:

"Just you wait! Let's go outside already. I would suggest the southern veranda, but pick any place you like."

Akasha smiled.

"Hmmm, at this time of year, veranda sounds great."

"Then let's go!" the man flexed his elbow and offered her his arm. She curled her hand inside his elbow and he felt that their sympathy was mutual.

The colorful evening stretched well into the night. And it tasted divinely. A witty conversation at the table filled with laughs and good humor, sparkling wine, seafood, quiet cellos and sea wash in the background.

Akasha was expecting nothing from the man, and was enjoying the good time they were having, and Phoebus was more and more enjoying her company, her smile, her eyes, the way she touched the rim of the glass with her finger while telling an anecdote, the way she listened to him with her knuckles touching her lips… He liked every inch of what he was seeing and every sound she produced.

And later, when they were strolling down the quay and listening to the surf, he felt it only natural to put his arm around her, to shield her from the night chill. Quietly, she put her arm around his waist, and they felt so at peace with the world, that no words became necessary.

After a few hours wondering along the seafront, Phoebus suddenly exclaimed:

"I'm so selfish! I should probably give you a rest before your work."

Akasha shook her head.

"I work every other day. Meaning tomorrow – or, rather, today – is my day off."

The Inquisitor turned to her with a smile.

"That's a relief."

"Doesn't mean I don't want to sleep now. It's been a long day."

He readily nodded.

"I will walk you home."

The offer was not idle, for despite all the city guard's efforts the streets were unsafe at this hour.

Akasha nodded.

"I'll gladly take your offer."

"Lead on then."

At the door to a small house in the quay district, Phoebus asked her, laughing:

"So, my fair lady, did I earn another date with you?"

She put on a mockingly strict expression and murmured:

"Let's see… You behaved fairly well… You helped me with the evening chores without complaining in spite of your very expensive nobleman's dress…" she parted her arms "You picked a place with marvelous settings... You walked me home... So, if you can indeed find escort services elsewhere, then, frankly, I cannot find a reason to tell you off…"

The man laughed and took her hand, but before lifting it to his lips, he paused and noted nonchalantly:

"So your house is located just a few steps away from the lagoon? An excellent location!"

Akasha smiled, making no attempt to remove her hand from his.

"A bit too humid during winter storms, but I got used to it... "

Trevelyan looked the woman in the eyes. Then he lifted her hand to his lips, carefully planted a kiss on it and breathed: "Good to know".

She smiled at him.

And kissed him on the lips, just a peck, then said very sincerely: "Thank you for the evening, noble sir. Good night."

Her hand slipped out of his grasp, and the woman went inside.

Phoebus grinned, his face well illuminated by the moon. He looked gleeful.

The next morning, there was no one to greet the sun at the quay, for they both felt it would be somehow wrong to return there at this point. But in the evening, Akasha received a large bouquet of fresh flowers. Then, at irregular intervals, she received: a bottle of rare magnolia wine, a beautiful singing mollusk shell, and a box of llina berries...

**-O-**

At the Val Royeaux estate of the Duke de Ronsimon, the Inquisition Temporary Residence, Cassandra was pacing to and fro in front of her friends Leliana and Josephine.

"What's taking him so long?! Why are we still here, when we should be fighting the Venatori, when he should be in Skyhold, guiding our actions! He's playing for time, for some obscure reason, and we cannot afford such luxury! We do not have any time to spare!"

Josephine gripped her tea cup tightly and sighed.

"Don't dramatize the situation. He can govern our forces from here as well as from any other place. Plus, in a couple of weeks, we are supposed to attend an imperial ball, and taking into account the time we need to travel to and from Skyhold to here, it does not make any sense to venture there now."

Cassandra vigorously shook her head.

"I get that, but he doesn't do any fighting lately! When was the last time that he closed a rift? Huh? I can tell you! Exactly ten days ago, on our way to this filthy city! And that's his sacred duty, if nothing else is!"

Leliana frowned and turned to the window, distracting herself with a lavish view on the harbor.

"You know what he thinks about anything sacred!" then she softened her tone and added "Be nice, Cassie, the man needs a break," she purred in her deceptively soft voice. "He has been working his butt off ever since we settled in that crow nest of Skyhold. Not to mention that he had no decent rest after surviving Haven, and that's to say a lot..." she paused "I was as much frustrated as you are now, but having listened to you, I understood that we could cut the man some slack... Besides, he doesn't make any real harm to his Herald's reputation, he's just hanging out, chasing some skirt. Nothing to send any red flags."

At the mention of a 'skirt', Josephine's eyelashes fluttered. She stifled a sigh and said neutrally:

"Cassandra, I understand your concerns, but let me assure you that neither our scouting operation nor diplomatic function has suffered because of our relocation. I'm sure that after the ball, everything will return to the usual status quo..."

The Seeker scoffed emotionally and stormed out of the room.

The spymaster followed her with her feigned sleepy gaze and sighed:

"It's good to know that I had ordered a whole bunch of dummies for Cassie to vent off her temper."

Then she looked at her friend, as if waiting for a question.

Josephine hesitated then softly said:

"I wonder how is this 'skirt' he has been chasing..."

Her friend's tone was reserved when she answered:

"My sources say she is a local hetaera, a very high-ranked one, the kind that can breeze through the royal palace like through her own backyard if she wishes to. The kind wives go to for advice and send their husbands to... When I was just a bard, I could never attain such status, for one must possess a true talent in the art of love and life to be like her..."

The ambassador sighed in desperation and nodded resignedly:

"That explains it..." she made a long pause then said "Every day, when I see him here in Val Royeaux, I think about that ugly scene I made when he dueled Adorno..."

Leliana raised her eyebrows with her eyes cast low and said carefully:

"Adorno Ciel Otranto offended the Inquisition, and our man could not leave it be, fiancé or no fiancé of yours. The fact that you took it personally was, well, unfortunate, but nothing so drastic as to give you grief."

Josephine's eyes glinted dangerously.

"I do not mourn my reputation, I mourn my relationship with... _him_!"

The spymaster shook her head.

"Dear Josie, I've already told you times and again, he was flirtatious and kind to you because of the generous nature of his character, and not because of some special attraction to you! He's been good to all women he's encountered so far!"

"But things he said...!"

"One on one, he can be very... personal with anyone!"

Josephine halted and looked at her friend with a mixture of curiosity and jealousy.

"Do tell!"

Leliana met her gaze and sighed.

"I just know the type!"

The diplomat shook her head.

"No-no-no! Don't give me this load of lies! Tell me!"

The spymaster's face was smooth and neutral.

"Josie, it is my job to know the man and all his comings and goings. Plus, I'm a bard, I can read people like you read diplomatic letters. He is a very charismatic man, but he also has his flaws. You are not the one to be able to hold him for long. The sooner you understand that it has nothing to do with you, the better."

Josephine sighed, smacked the pouch with diplomatic mail against the tabletop and said:

"I'll go get some air..."

**-O-**

Eventually, the gifts stopped coming, but just when Akasha decided that the womanizer finally lost interest, then late in the evening, she saw a familiar tall frame on the spa doorstep.

The blond devil stood there, grinning, an eclectic bunch of flowers in his hand, paradoxically combining luxurious garden flowers with some buttercups, clovers, wild berries, thistle, and what suspiciously looked like some colorful dill into a harmonious if odd bouquet.

"What an unusual combination..." Akasha arched her brow, smiling.

Trevelyan beamed happily.

"You took notice?"

The woman moved her shoulder vaguely and studied the bouquet.

"I have an impression that you arranged it yourself..."

His lips twisted into a crooked smile.

"Is it a good or a bad thing?"

Akasha raised her eyes on him.

"It's... interesting. The composition is... ironic... funny... tender... sensual... And it is provocative."

Phoebus nodded, his eyes both laughing and a tad serious.

"And you summed it up quite nicely, there is nothing more to be said about it."

The woman smiled.

"Thank you. I like it. It is an interesting arrangement."

The blond man nodded again.

"I'm happy the effect was not lost on you," he said simply. "I've heard of a new entertainment in the city. A large gondola goes out into the bay, set with a light dinner, a waiter, a musician and a sailor. So, what do you say? I was rather hoping that you do not get seasick…"

Akasha shrugged.

"I had plans for tonight."

The man arched his brow ironically.

"Are they better than a gondola?"

She shrugged her shoulders impassively.

"They are mine. Which makes them better for me."

The Inquisitor nodded, accepting her point.

But the woman smiled and said:

"Come on Beltain, and I'll gladly join you for that gondola ride."

Trevelyan grinned.

"Now I'm all a tingle..."

The musician was playing a bandore fairly well, and both people spent more time listening to him play than they did talking.

"A wonderful evening," sighed the woman, strolling down the night street, hand in hand with the tall man.

He sighed with satisfaction.

"Indeed."

He was quieter today than he had been on the first occasion, and yet he was even more attractive somehow, for his silence was filled with echoes of the music.

When they came to her door, the woman said "thank you" so sincerely, touchingly and profoundly, that the man felt gratitude for these simple words.

They did not want to part just yet, so they just stood by the door to her house, silently smiling to each other.

They took their relationship at its own pace, with no rush to spoil the moment.

Both felt gratitude to each other for these simple instants of peace and beauty...

**-O-**

A riff-raff elven girl appeared at the doorstep to the Inquisitor's bedroom and asked him in a slobbery and very casual manner:

"What's with the shinin'? I've ne'er heard you playing such tunes, an' ur playing real fancy!"

He grinned good-humoredly and continued playing his cello.

"You like it?"

The elf scoffed.

"Pfffft! Like 'like'? Arse, no! You play like a pansy!"

The man grunted in surprise and laughed. He picked a few notes an octave lower.

"And now? Does it sound more manly?"

The elven girl giggled.

"No way! What's wrong with you man?! Bet you gonna have a date again, right?"

The tune became cheerful and funny.

The player was grinning.

"What did give me away?"

Involuntarily, the elven girl started moving to the tune and grinning happily.

"Bah, dressed all posh like you are?! You look like a fop, like easy game for any Jenny!"

Trevelyan put on a mocking frown, the cello produced a yelp.

"Sera, don't let me regret our friendship!"

Slowly, he put away the instrument along with the fiddlestick as if unsure he should continue playing.

Then, suddenly, he sprang up to his feet and, laughing, chased the girl into the corridor, pinching her everywhere:

"Just you wait, easy game!"

They ran down a suite of rooms, giggling and yelling, and doing all sorts of pranks to servants, soldiers and courtiers alike.

But that was until they bumped into Leliana.

"Your Worship! Sera! Our host will hardly be pleased if he learns of how you harass his guests and servants!"

Sera scowled at the spymaster and mumbled "Mood spoiler..." before nodding to Phoebus and dissolving into the background.

The Inquisitor looked at the spymaster disapprovingly and asked:

"Any particular reason why you disrupted our innocent fun?"

Leliana rolled her eyes and exclaimed:

"The Herald of Andraste shouldn't behave like a spoilt brat!"

The man growled impatiently, grabbed her in his arms and articulated in an exaggerated manner, looking her straight in the eyes, his stare slightly quizzical:

"But I – _am_ – a spoiled brat. – And I'm – a herald – of nothing, – my dear. The only thing I can herald is my own rapid demise, if I soon don't find a way to part with this," he showed her his gloved left hand, smacked her in the lips, and hurried to the exit.

**-O-**

After observing the Inquisitor's riposte to the spymaster, a red-haired dwarf that had marooned about the palace approached the grey Qunari giant leisureling in the sun just outside the door to the garden.

"Ben-Hassrah, eh?" he asked in a slightly hesitant voice.

The one-eyed giant looked down at the dwarf and specified:

"Hissrad. Why suddenly so shy, pally?"

The dwarf sighed.

"See, Bull, I have this question..."

The Qunari grumbled and said:

"Spit it out already, Varric."

Varric sighed again and started from afar:

"I was wondering if you had perhaps any liaisons with Tal-Vashoth from the Free Marches..."

The giant's single eye sparkled smartly.

"As I assume you do not come here to insult me, I guess something's happened involving the Tal-Vashoth. So, is it a relative of yours?"

The dwarf visibly relaxed and said "Yes".

"Ransom?"

"Yes."

The giant shook his huge horned head.

"Give me the details."

Varric recovered his breath and began explaining:

"This is about my... ah... niece..."

XXXXXX

**-O-**

Today's bouquet was spectacular, to say the least. And it reeked of some mischief.

Akasha raised her distrustful gaze at the smirking man.

"Are these pieces of cheese supposed to be here?" she asked, pointing at waxy petals arranged in the middle of the composition.

The man laughed.

"Yep. The same as these spikes of barley and spider eggs."

The woman scoffed.

"Out with it, master of trouble! Why am I holding this?"

The Trevelyan grinned.

"Because we are going to the royal zoo to feed fennecs, try not to get eaten by varghests, and get a ride on fluffy ponies."

Akasha laughed.

"Awww, I should have known that those spider eggs weren't for me..."

"No, they are not for you, they are for dwarven ponies. Ponies adore the acid taste... And we are going to have lunch at the Brannicus spire terrace. They say the view there is one of the best in the city."

The woman smiled.

"Oh-huh! The Free Marcher's got taste!"

Trevelyan shrugged his shoulders and said, smiling:

"Free Marchers don't have any taste, I get it. I just wanted to impress you."

The woman found at last her hair clip, raised the mass of her hair and fixed it.

"All right, you did impress me, Free Marcher. Let's go!"

They spent a fantastic day having fun at the zoo, interacting with animals, feeding them, riding them, running from them, and making some other silly but joyous crankery.

It was well after sunset that they left the zoo and went looking for a place to dine.

Finally they found a none too seedy tavern, Akasha insisted on going inside.

"They have the best sea-bass in the district, and they don't have any pompous waiters..."

"You don't like pompous waiters?" smiled Phoebus. "But I thought you did..."

Akasha wrinkled her nose.

"I don't mind them. I just don't go looking for places solely because of their presence..."

The man incisively smiled.

"All right then. Next time we'll go to a port tavern..."

The woman laughed. Any sane person would eat nothing at that kind of diner.

"Before going there, don't forget to write your will!"

Their time together drew to a close.

She opened the door to her house and said her beautiful and profound "Thank you", and, again, Phoebus could not put his finger on why these simple words moved him so much.

There was something incredible about her…

The Inquisitor observed the door closing and asked suddenly:

"How do you like your breakfast in the morning?"

The door stopped closing. After a brief hesitant pause Akasha's head poked out of it.

Her eyes were laughing when she said:

"You're too handsome for my taste."

The man was surprised.

"That's a new one! All right. Handsome, yes, but I can be really sweet in the morning."

Akasha sighed and laughed.

"You never quit, do you?"

The man smiled and shook his head.

"I can't. Even if I wished to."

And he removed the glove from his left hand.

The whole block of the street got immersed in the eerie greenish light on his palm. The man stood in the middle of the paved way, showing her his secret, waiting for her reaction.

The woman was indeed surprised. But when she came back to her senses she exclaimed to him:

"Put it off! If you don't want to wake up the whole street, put it off!"

Contrary to the most obvious course of action she did not invite him in, as he would have half-expected.

She sighed noisily, her eyes now reflecting a curious mixture of interest, slight irritation, senseless merriment, some strange bitterness and fascination. In her eyes, he read her appreciation of his gesture. She respected his candor. But she chose not to speak about it, preserving the purity of the feeling.

When the street became dark once again, she said, half-frowning:

"That did indeed catch my attention… And it was a low blow... Does it usually work for you? You wave your magic hand around and – bang! – all doors open!"

Phoebus smiled.

"I never tried it like that before. Usually, when I wave it, passages close. It was probably a bad idea, but I had to try it."

Akasha sighed again and asked softly:

"And what did you hope to achieve? My immediate surrender?"

The man laughed.

"Hmmm... Something like that, I suppose."

The woman thought it over, then said:

"It does look impressive, you know."

He nodded.

"At first, yes. I just _had_ to show it to you…"

Suddenly Akasha burst into uncontrollable giggling.

"Sounds like showing… you know…" she panted, crackling again, if a bit nervously.

The Inquisitor laughed too, his arms akimbo, half-embarrassed, half-relieved.

Akasha looked at him playfully and repeated:

"It's been such a lovely evening. I thank you for it."

The man arched his brow.

"Don't I get a kiss for good behavior?"

She laughed.

"You've spoilt it with your torchlight..."

Phoebus mockingly growled.

"Awww... Bummer. How can I win you back?"

The woman giggled.

"Who said you can?"

The Inquisitor rolled his head back and exhaled.

"Just don't tell me you have a snoring husband somewhere inside," he said smiling, "for one day, I'll have to kick him out of bed and lock up in some cupboard."

Amused, the woman crossed her arms at her chest.

"And what if I love my husband?"

Phoebus sighed with exaggerated seriousness and parted his arms.

"Then I'll have to resort to dirty tricks."

Akasha almost succeeded in stifling a laugh, grinned, said "Goodnight!" and disappeared behind the door.

The man, still standing in the street, frowned, slightly frustrated.

"Seriously? You've got a husband?" he asked the door out loud.

Inside the house, the woman felt a wave of heat emanating from her body. The man was hot, and her body was fully aware of it. His smell, his bright smiling eyes, his kind easy-going nature, his bad-boyishness mixed with a good measure of impeccable manners, his impossible light playful way that made her laugh, his manly power that emanated from his impressive bulk, his smart hands that seemed to know her every nook and cranny...

It tasted like an exciting and very playful dance with a flame... And it made her want to continue this dance on a very carnal level.

So, after a pause, she gingerly opened the door and peeped outside.

The blond man stood there, leaning on the wall of a house opposite Akasha's, his arms crossed, a thoughtful expression on his face. By the looks of him, it seemed that he wasn't ready to leave anytime soon.

At the sound of the opening door he raised his head. He looked all at once relieved, vulnerable and perplexed.

Akasha studied him doubtfully, then said after a brief pause, hiding a smirk in the corners of her lips:

"Phoebus… You shouldn't be standing here at this hour, it's a seedy place..."

Regardless of how he felt now, he arched his brow, a crooked smile playing across his face, and said teasingly:

"I'd hoped you'd say that. What's an evening without a brawl!"

The woman sighed, still posted at the doorstep.

"Sometimes you act deceptively like a gentleman. It's confusing."

The blond Inquisitor grinned.

"A-hah! That's good."

The woman shrugged her shoulders.

"I don't see how this is good when I can't decide if you can be trusted to sleep on the couch..."

His eyes flickered as he slowly drew near her.

When he was close to the door enough to be able to look her right in the eye, he said:

"If you need me to be a gentleman, then, of course, by all means, that's who I'll be... But... Are you sure you'll want it this way? After all, you haven't seen me naked yet..."

She stifled another laugh, and looked at the man, grinning:

"Phoebus... or... your Worship, I suppose..."

"Phoeb would be nice, thank you," he quickly interjected and continued listening.

The woman resumed:

"Phoebus..." then she interrupted herself, shaking her head, "Maker, I don't even think you'd be able to keep your pants on, once inside!"

The man smiled broadly and mischievously.

"Tell you what, let's make an experiment. You'll dispose of my body any way you see fit... I sincerely doubt that you will be able to keep your hands off me once I get naked but I won't breathe without your permission, I promise. Agreed?"

The woman bit her lower lip. He was making her giggly. She assessed the man, her eyes narrowed quizzically.

He was now standing close to her, exuding calm power and self-assurance.

And he had the naughtiest smile on his seductive lips.

She shook her head.

"I don't believe you."

He inclined his head and said in a guttural whisper:

"I will _not_ – I repeat – will _not_ do anything without your permission." He made a meaningful pause, then added more playfully "However you can do anything you want to, mistress of the house. Rules of the experiment, eh?"

This time, Akasha couldn't hold it anymore, she laughed out loud and pushed the door open and let the man step inside.

"I will regret this," she sighed, not regretting anything in the slightest.

Resolutely, Phoebus closed the door behind him and leaned against it.

"Awaiting your orders, mistress of the house."

Her bosom quavered as she closed her eyes. She hardly swallowed before speaking. The impressions of the zoo with all the laughs and pranks, the terrace with a magnificent view, the evening sea, the breeze, the music, the jokes – all mingled into an intoxicating cocktail heavily spiced by the man's presence… She realized that his voice, kind and warm, both deeply profound and unexpectedly boyish, turned her on like a magic flute.

"You just shut up!" exclaimed the woman. "So arrogant! You think you are entitled to everything!"

The man caught her in his arms and felt her soft lips on his mouth.

He moaned as he responded to her kiss, all his senses exploding into a symphony of long restrained sensations...

"We are the same," he muttered breathlessly between kisses, his pleasure almost unbearable, as he avidly squeezed her body in his feverish arms.

Akasha started moving backwards into the guestroom, tugging the man along with her.

They fell onto the sofa, kicking their shoes off and kissing, and stroking each other.

After a while Akasha mumbled:

"Let's go upstairs, the bed is roomier."

But Phoebus shook his head and said very seriously:

"Can't. There's a husband snoring!"

They both giggled and stopped moving for a while. They just contemplated each other with a mixture of curiosity and pleasure.

Then the woman looked at him thoughtfully and said matter-of-factly:

"Earlier you boasted about your naked awesomeness. Now's the time to show it."

The Inquisitor flashed a bright smile and asked:

"You want to see how despicably handsome I can be? Or just have some brutal naughtiness in mind to punish me for it?"

She giggled and tapped him on the chest.

"Start undressing."

He obeyed, smiling. Before taking off each piece of clothing he pointed at it and looked inquisitively at the woman. She nodded, giggling, and he proceeded.

The last item were brais, and Phoebus made quite a show of removing them.

Before taking them off, he asked:

"Are you sure? Maybe some other week? I must warn you, a member of mine can quite shock people with fragile nervous system. Sure? So, am I taking them off? Look, I cannot make him lie down, are you sure it would be appropriate?..."

Finally, he was left with nothing else but a single glove on his left hand.

The man lay back onto the sofa, watching Akasha watch him.

For a few minutes, she just contemplated him, savoring his stunning well-proportioned body with well-defined muscles, observed his stomach move to his breathing, his hand on his crotch, protective.

Then she, slowly, deliberately started tracing with her fingers the things she was observing, now she was feeling his warm flesh, the rush of his pulse, the gentle tickling of his hairs.

His breath became labored as he was watching her studying him, a soft sigh escaped his lips. As she was tousling his hair, he pressed her palm to his cheek, then kissed her palm. Her fingers playfully stroked his lips as he tried to nibble them like a horse trying to pick an apple from one's hand.

Then she took off her dress and undid the breast bandaging.

He saw a few markings on her skin that told him plenty, but for now he chose not to interrupt her.

And she resumed her study touching him with her body, now with only a thin band of silk panties occasionally brushing against his skin.

"May I touch you?" he breathed into her ear, his mouth watering, his whole body yearning for her touch.

Her breasts brushed against his chest, her hair fell onto his face, as she whispered:

"Yes…"

Trying not to interfere with her cadence, he put his hands on her sides and at first slid his palms down to the panties, massaged them thoroughly, then slid up to her breasts, started kissing them…

Then she pressed her body tightly against his, rubbing it in, then turning over and pressing her back against him, rolling in his odor she liked so much.

Phoebus's hands, strong yet careful, slithered across her stomach, one went up, the other went down, like a cello player's…

"Damn the glove," he murmured, as his gloved hand neared the woman's crotch.

Akasha giggled, pressing her cheek against his unshaven cheek.

"You might cut off fingers of the glove," she suggested, breathing in his breath.

"Or I can take it off altogether," puffed the man, trying to wriggle his hand out of the glove.

"Oh no, mister!" protested Akasha. "I don't want to see my pussy lit up like a Midwinter tree."

"Damn it!" growled the man. "Cut off those fingers then!"

The woman sighed and got up.

"Scissors must be in the kitchen," she murmured and went looking for the tool, while Phoebus was pulling the thing off his hand and clubbing the fist.

When she returned with the scissors, his fist gave off enough dim light to spotlight his impressive six-pack.

The woman stood beside the sofa, thoughtful.

"They say the Inquisitor is a mage… But I could swear a bookworm would never have such a body… On the other hand, the torchlight on your palm is real enough… So, what are you really?"

The Inquisitor shrugged, taking the scissors and starting to cut off the leather fingers.

"Beats me, my sweetie. As a Trevelyan, I'm pretty good at fencing and swashbuckling, as a white crow of the family I could open any lock in the castle at the age of eight. I've always loved the bow for its precision and the way it made me feel focused and calm… and until recently I've successfully managed to avoid attention to my modest magic tricks… So mage? Maybe, but not so much. A rascal, more like it, my dear."

"A rascal! That's who you are, for sure!" nodded Akasha, laughing.

Now he put back the butchered glove onto his hand, and the room became darker. Tiny slivers of light were seeping through the narrow openings between the glove's leather and his fingers, but were not bright enough to illuminate anything around them.

The woman climbed back on the sofa next to him and lay quietly for some time, feeling his skin touching her skin and listening to his heart pounding.

"A rascal you say," she mused aloud. "When you first came into the spa, I thought you were a high-ranked officer of the imperial army..."

The man stroked her head.

"Doesn't matter, my dear. Let me make sweet love to you and then you'll go to sleep like a baby. I'll be gentle like an angel of Andraste..."

The woman smiled.

"An angel of Andraste? I'd like that."

He started kissing her on the lips, reverently and very gently, his hands slid again in opposite directions, one hugging her shoulders, the other pulling at the bow on the panties, loosening them. By the way he was touching her, it became apparent how much he had been craving her all this time.

He was indeed gentle and skillful, and the woman started panting and moaning, and rubbing her body against his. She arched her spine and parted her legs a bit, allowing him to explore her further.

Phoebus placed her carefully on the sofa, took off her panties and parted her legs widely. His fingers slid to the small triangle of her curly hair. She caught her breath, but he did not hurry, caressing her legs and crotch.

And then he did something very rare in this part of the continent – he lowered to her thighs and started kissing her thighs and hips, and then he started kissing and licking her nether lips.

At some point, she could not bear it anymore, pulled the man up by his hair and clasped to his torso with her feverish body. His mouth smelled of her, but she did not care.

Their parts found each other, and the two-backed animal started moving.

"I cannot keep it gentle, my goddess," he uttered, mesmerized by his own hip movement in her. "Please allow me to move faster…"

"Yes, go faster…" she echoed, arching under him.

And he gave it to her as best he could, her guttural sounds driving him crazy, wanting for more, deeper, stronger…

It was a miracle that the sofa did not collapse under them when they came, and that at 4 in the morning no one woke up from their noise.

Contrary to all promises, they did not fall asleep, but instead continued to talk, laugh and make love until well into the morning.

"…So…" she resumed, crawling back onto the sofa with a cup of water she had brought in from the kitchen. "It's really like two different personas… People see the Inquisitor dressed in this dark leather armor with a hood and a scarf covering half a face, and in another place, they see this golden playboy Trevelyan dressed in fine silks and going to the theater and the opera. People know that in theory these two guys are one and the same, but it just doesn't click together. Is this the way you intended it? To be two distinctly different personas?"

Phoebus nodded.

"Yes, I'm doing it on purpose."

He made a few gulps of water from the cup and continued his explanation:

"Otherwise, I would not have any private life. And that's why this upcoming reception at the Empress's palace worries me so much. Because this is when it will finally 'click' together, as you've aptly put it."

Akasha mused aloud:

"You'll be dressed like a nobleman and still you'll be called 'your Worship'…"

"Exactly."

She thought it over, then made a dismissive gesture.

"That's easy to remedy. Just create a third, court persona, derived from your 'battle' Inquisitor… Hear me out," she asked him, as he tried to object. "Being a Free Marcher, you are not accustomed to the use of masks. And what's the first thing you see in Val Royeaux? The ever-present masks! So, if the Inquisitor chooses to go to the ball dressed in the local fashion, who would argue? Just pick dark colors, a dark cowl, and put on a full-face silver mask instead of a scarf… It could be custom-made, exclusive, to make sure that the Inquisitor is indeed the Inquisitor. And voilà, you are the recognizable trademark, you may even choose thin silk gloves to make your mark visible to all curious, and your playboy persona will be left untouched."

Phoebus grinned happily, looking at the woman in amazement.

"How crafty!" he exclaimed. "Are you sure you don't want to be my personal councilor?"

She snorted.

"And go to the freezing Skyhold instead of the balmy Val Royeaux beach? I much prefer the playboy over the grim Inquisitor. They say he chops heads of convicts himself."

Phoebus winced and sighed.

"Unfortunately, that's true."

The woman got up again.

"I'm starving," she announced and went to the kitchen.

Phoebus eagerly followed her and said:

"Allow me. Just show me where you keep your stuff…"

Akasha shrugged, very much pleased, and pointed to the larder.

"Eggs are in there, the pan is over the stove, milk is… yes, it's on the doorstep already... But I'll have to kindle a fire first…"

However, the man took her by the shoulders, made her sit on a stool and went to the stove. There, he put a bundle of dry wood into the opening, flicked his fingers, and set fire to the wood.

He heard behind him an awed sigh and turned to see Akasha with the eyes wide open watch him as a five-year-old. She grinned happily.

"It's first time I see a mage so casually doing what takes me ten minutes to make."

The man approached her, grinning in return, put his hands on her hips, kissed her on the mouth, and said, smiling:

"Just don't go telling this to anyone who doesn't know yet…"

She shrugged and put her arms around his neck.

"I'd be the first to suffer for my indiscretion, for sheltering an apostate…"

They kissed a bit, but a rumbling stomach returned them back to earth.

Phoebus went on to check the larder, and Akasha brought in milk and went looking for a robe and a hair comb.

While the man was doing breakfast, she washed herself, put on a silky robe and combed her hair.

By the time the breakfast was ready, she came into the kitchen well-groomed and smelling of flowers.

"Let me help you to wash off that sweat…" she took a large jar and filled it with water from a huge barrel standing in a corner. "Although I like the way you smell…"

They went into the inner courtyard, and the woman poured water onto the man. Then she gave him a towel, which he wrapped around his hips, and they returned to the table.

The way he set the table reminded her of the best restaurants on the Golden Promenade. The omelet was light and airy, the toasts crunchy, the bacon crisp, the greens fresh.

At the woman's amazed gaze, the Inquisitor laughed.

"I told you I was a white crow among my siblings. I always liked to be self-dependent, and I was a very curious teen. It got me in troubles more times than I can count... to rectify this, my dad often sent me to work as a menial worker to earn my keep. The first time, when I starved, I did not want to go anywhere, because our family was rich, right? Why should I work then? I thought it was some idiocy of that old tyrant, so I stole something from the kitchen... let's say that when I finally recovered from the punishment, I eagerly ran to the nearest construction site... Not sure it improved my relationships with him, but it certainly helped me grow some scruff... So, if need be, I can fix anything in this house…"

The woman laughed.

"Don't start!"

They dug into their plates with a gusto worthy of champions, and soon finished their meal in a record time.

"Thank you, it was delicious," Akasha took the plates and kissed the man on the cheek.

Their stomachs full, drowsiness took over them fast enough.

So, they climbed into bed and slept blissfully until well into the afternoon.

**-O-**

A few days later, Akasha was woken up by a racket at her door. Someone was loudly knocking at it and yelling something.

At first, the woman hoped that the bum would go away, buy then she heard "In the name of the holy Inquisition" and understood that the bum was probably an agent of the Inquisition and that he might continue this racket the whole day.

So she sighed, yawned and put on her dress. Then she climbed down the stairs and cried out:

"I'm coming!"

And the banging finally stopped.

She opened the door and saw a young soldier in the Inquisition uniform.

"Are you lady Akasha?" he inquired business-like.

The woman sighed.

"One of them, at least. What is it you want?"

The young soldier saluted her and resumed in his tin voice:

"I am to escort you, ma'am, to the estate of the Duke de Ronsimon immediately!"

Akasha's brows shot up.

"For whatever obscure reason?"

The young man softened a bit and explained:

"His Worship is staying at the estate of the Duke for the duration of preparations for the ball at the Imperial court. He requires the aid of his stylist, and for this occasion he dispatched me to fetch you. He also provided transport for you," he gestured toward a small light carriage drawn by a beautiful beige horse.

The woman sighed.

"Wait here, I need to dress properly," she grumbled and closed the door.

First, she needed a shower, a comb, and a fresh dress.

It took her under an hour to do all she wanted to do with her body, but when she finally came into the street, the young soldier's approving stare suggested he would not mind waiting if the wait paid up so well.

They both climbed into the carriage, and the soldier whipped the horse.

She was escorted through a side entrance into the estate, guided inside, crossed a multitude of rooms, balustrades and inner courtyards until she finally made it to an exquisitely furnished room full of people bearing the insignia of the Inquisition. Her accompanying soldier made a gesture to wait here and went to the door in the far end of the room.

While left to her own devices, Akasha curiously studied the Inquisitor's retinue.

At least three women cast her unpleasant glances as if she had stepped into their territory. But there were a few more interesting subjects, like a huge Qunari chatting with a short dwarf, a bald elf, whose ears protruded almost like horns, and many other curious characters.

But suddenly the far door opened, and a tall figure clad in midnight blue velvet clothes came straight over to her and bowed politely.

"My dear lady, I was expecting you," he said in a voice slightly distorted and muffled by a silvery mask covering his face. "Please follow me."

Akasha obeyed, surrounded by curious glances.

When she entered the inner room that proved to be a cabinet, and followed the man into yet another room, his bedroom, she heard doors closing after her.

The man behind the mask sighed apologetically and turned to her.

"See what I must deal with on a daily basis?" he waived his hand in the direction of the main hall. "A circus! And this estate's ears have ears of their own… And naturally my spymaster knows better than I do what went on in that lovely house of yours…"

The woman sighed.

"Ah, so that was **_her_** drilling my skull with her sharp gaze…"

The man moaned.

"Ah, my precious harpies! Never without them…"

Akasha nodded thoughtfully.

"Now I start to get it why you were so adamant about different personas…"

The masked man nodded.

She looked at him, studying his attire.

"You look so… alien…"

He puffed and removed his mask. The familiar handsome face, now framed with almost black silk of his headwear looked paler, stricter, more mature and tired.

He smiled to the woman.

"Come here," he whispered barely audibly, outstretching his arms toward her.

She smiled in return and came into his arms.

"Mmmm, I missed you so much," he murmured, kissing her face.

She smiled and slipped away from him, went to the window and stared outside.

"What a lovely view," she said studying the beautiful garden in front of her.

The Inquisitor sighed, put his mask back on again and went to join her by the window.

"You look like you belong here," he said to the woman.

She turned to him and smiled.

"I belong everywhere."

The expression on his face could not be read, but he asked:

"What could I offer you so that you agree to join me?"

The woman looked at him mischievously.

"You didn't specify what joining you mean?"

Phoebus started pacing back and forth, speaking in short, precise phrases, as if he were dictating a letter.

"I know that you've been a warrior. An ambidextrous twin-blader, judging by your moves. A really good one, judging by the markings on your skin. I'd like to know more, but it's not a quick trip to Val Royeaux and back, and I cannot make daily trips here. As I understand it, you like the climate here, your independence, the peace and quiet… What is it you are unwilling to trade for any other circumstances?"

He turned to her and she saw his burning gaze from the shadow of the mask.

"That's a serious question, your Lordship," she said and knew instantly that he winced. "My first answer would be: My peace of mind. But then, what it means? I can imagine many circumstances where I would not have any peace of mind, but still I'd be feeling that I'm doing the right thing. Do I care for you? Yes. But would it feel the same if I moved to Skyhold and started a new page in my life? I doubt it. Greatly. I understand that you need support right now, and I'm flattered that you've chosen me as such, and of all people you should have every support you need, for many lives depend on your decisions, your mind, your physical state…"

"And you are unwilling to make such a sacrifice," he summarized bitterly. "I don't want to coerce you into sacrificing anything. If the boat doesn't float, it doesn't, that's it."

An odd thought occurred to Akasha, and she laughed bitterly.

"I've sacrificed enough already. But how strange it is to see your personas at play… I like so much that boy Trevelyan, and don't even know what to say to the Inquisitor…"

The masked man rolled his head back and let out a loud exhale.

"All right," he said, then he pulled on the curtains, hiding from the sight, stepped away from the window and briskly started undressing.

When his boots, pants, jacket and the headdress along with the mask were thrown to the floor, a familiar man appeared. He took off the band that held his hair away from his face, tousled his forelock, then spread his arms to demonstrate his torso, took off his chemise and touched the cord on his brais.

"That too, or you start already recognizing me?" he asked looking at the woman and playing with the cord.

She giggled.

"Mmmmm, something starts coming back to me…" she purred, grinning.

The man dropped his brais and stood stark naked before her.

"And now? See any familiar objects?"

She burst into laughs.

"Now _that's_ a sacrifice!"

He shrugged.

"The only other solution was to order my men to escort you to Skyhold and keep you there as my prisoner."

"Now that's an unsavory action."

"Hence, this," he made a gesture with his both palms in the direction of his hips.

Akasha contemplated him for a while, savoring the sight.

Then she lowered her head and shook it.

"Now, what am I to do with you?" she sighed.

The man approached her quietly, took a seat on the bed and pulled her to sit next to him.

His gaze was slightly sad when he told her softly:

"You could enjoy me while I'm still here. I'd like that."

He took her hand in his and looked into her eyes. Akasha met his gaze and stroked his cheek.

They both felt the same complicity they had enjoyed in her house.

The man nuzzled in her hair, kissed her on the head and murmured:

"Do whatever you want. The only thing I will ever regret is that I was too polite that first day in the salon and did not take you the instant I saw you. I wasted so much time not kissing you..."

Akasha, smiling like a cat, stroked his abs and pectorals with her finger and said softly:

"Such display of power… A tall, mysterious and powerful man ravishing me right on the banquette… Awwww...!"

Phoebus narrowed his eyes and stretched his lips in a devious smile.

"So, you like power? Was I wrong to stay civil?"

He pushed her back lightly, and she fell onto the bed.

"Did you want this?" he domed above her, then lifted her skirt up and tugged sharply at her panties. The cord held well, but the airy silk cracked and was shred to pieces.

Phoebus pressed the woman down with his full weight, pinning her arms above her head and spreading her legs with his knee.

She giggled.

"That would be refreshing..."

"Is this what you want?" he asked in a mockingly growling whisper between a series of ticklish kisses that parodied rough behavior.

Akasha squealed in laughter.

"Even when you act tough you are so sweet!"

He laughed.

"Shush, don't tell anyone!"

She cupped his face in her palms and kissed him on the lips.

"Mmmmm, adorable!"

"Shush!"

"Make me shut up!"

He kissed her on the mouth, while she was squeezing his buttocks and caressing his sides with her legs.

He moaned and whispered in her ear, while nibbling on it:

"You drive me crazy. I want you..."

By this time, her pupils were dilated, she was breathing through her mouth.

"Yes… oh yes…" she panted softly, biting her lower lip.

He couldn't get to her breasts without cutting her corset with something sharp so he just kissed her throat and chest, squeezed her armored breasts and entered her without any further ado.

She gasped and arched below him, sending shivers up his spine with her guttural sounds.

He moved roughly, forcefully, unbridled. But the woman was following him, on the verge of consciousness, half-mad with desire.

They came, but did not disengage, sharing more kisses and moans.

"Truth be told," she finally managed to say, "I would have killed you if you dared to assault me. And it's not a metaphor."

The man nodded, smiling.

"I believe you, dear. I would never do that. Not because I'm afraid of the consequences, it's just not the right thing to do. Plus, I can get free sex anywhere without resorting to such extremes..."

They both laughed and made love until the daylight dimmed, until a knock on the door resounded in the room.

Phoebus cursed under his breath but did not hurry to extract himself from inside the woman.

"What do you need?" he cried out.

"Excuse me for interrupting you, your Worship, but it's time to prepare for the ball," Josephine's voice was clearly carried through the closed door.

"That's my ambassador," explained Phoebus to Akasha quietly.

Then he parted his lover's lips and inserted his tongue into her mouth. His kiss was so deep that he felt her muscles in the vagina contracting, squeezing his cock.

The man started moving again, ravishing his partner.

After a while he admitted:

"I cannot come…"

Akasha laughed:

"And I am so sore, I will be unable to walk…"

"Damn, that's crazy, I still want you…"

Phoebus sighed and disengaged from his lover.

"That's it. No more sex until winter."

Akasha rolled to her back and giggled:

"Sucker."

Phoebus grinned, stood up and turned to the woman.

"Now I'll show you something funny. What do you reckon, how many people are out there?"

Still naked, he stood straight and clapped his hands.

At once, the door burst open, and a group of tight-looking people poured in.

The sight of his powerful wet body with raw cock startled many of them, a few even shielded themselves from the view by either their palms or writing slabs, but he did not give them time to digest it and ordered in his well-practiced no-nonsense tone:

"I need water, soap, towels, fresh linen and a good meal for two. My lover needs new underwear." He turned to Akasha, "Do you need anything else, my dear?"

She shook her head and grinned:

"A day off from the spa."

The Inquisitor turned to his spymaster and said:

"You heard my lady. Anything she wants – grant it. Presto!"

A swarthy woman in a ridiculous gold attire, Josephine, averting her eyes, curtsied and said:

"At once, your Worship," and went to call servants.

The spymaster whispered something into the ear of one of her scouts, who nodded and scurried away, and cleared her throat:

"Your Worship, may I suggest we contain the information on your… ahem… partner before it spreads. After all, you are an emissary of the most holy Andraste, and…"

"And I never made such claims," the Inquisitor interrupted her putting his hands on his hips.

Then he approached her, smelling like an animal of sweat and sex, and said in a most provocative baritone:

"I'm a living person, my dear. You don't like me, don't eat me. Just don't try to label me."

His proximity made all present women gulp nervously, their eyes suddenly alit with hunger.

But the man returned to bed, sat on its edge and, having rubbed his nose, asked:

"So, what's new so far?"

A mighty warrior woman, Cassandra, stepped in front of her colleagues and began recounting:

"We've secured the perimeter of the estate but still a man got through and wants to see the Herald of Andraste. Looks deranged, so we sealed him in a basement for the time being…"

Phoebus hemmed.

"So much for your security. I'll speak to the man before we leave tonight. Next."

It seemed for a moment that Cassandra wanted to argue, but after a brief hesitation she resumed her account:

"Our host would like to go along with us, so that everyone sees him in our midst."

"Granted. Anything else, Cassie?"

A few soldiers came in, carrying a large tub, many buckets of water, a few towels, soap, oils and linen. Another group brought a narrow tabletop with foods and drinks.

When the tub was filled, Phoebus took Akasha in his arms and carried her to the water. He stepped into it, sat down and let the woman out of his grasp only when she was submerged to her waist.

"Yes, there is something else," said the warrior woman. "Our dwarven allies say it will take another month to secure that cave-in, so they suggest to make a new tunnel."

"And this new tunnel can be made in…" suggested Phoebus lathering his chest and armpits.

"Four weeks."

"So, that's a month, right?"

"Slightly less."

"Don't bother. Next."

The swarthy Josephine stepped forward, and, nervously stuttering a bit at first, said:

"There is a matter with your family, your Worship… And maybe we should discuss it in private…"

Phoebus laughed, catching his lover's ankle and lathering it with a big fluffy sponge.

"More private than this? Please, Josephine, you'd make me blush."

The woman was flushed when she forced herself to utter:

"It appears that your parents have found you a… fiancée…"

This news brought a genuine exclamation of amusement from the Inquisitor.

"Indeed? How marvelous! Like yours found you a groom? Just write them like I did, that you've got nothing to fight about with my bride-to-be."

The swarthy woman changed colors a few times before she said:

"What am I to answer them?"

Phoebus's eyes were on his lover when he responded with a crooked grin:

"Thank them for remembering finally that they've got a son. But remind them that the time for recalling of my existence has long gone. As my father always told us: 'The most important thing to know about the Free Marches is that we're free. We determine our own destiny, and that pleases us.' So, I'm a Free Marcher, and my destiny is solely mine as I follow my heart as the expression of the Maker!"

Josephine sighed with exasperation and argued in a mellow tone, like the one adopted for difficult children:

"It would be shameful to the girl, we should devise a reply that would be acceptable to your people. I'm not very well versed in the customs of the Free Marches, Ostwick in particular, so… I need your help in this."

Phoebus sighed and laid his head on the border of the tub.

"There isn't much to tell about that place… First, it's near the Waking Sea, which is why the Val Royeaux climate suits me best, and, second, it's famous for its anti-Qunari double walls…"

His ambassador frowned.

"This will not help me deal with your family or the girl."

"The girl, the girl," he mumbled, splashing his face with warm water. "Do I even know her?"

"She is certain Rosanda Perciwool, niece to the Duke Almond of Bashville…"

"Ah, now I know why," exclaimed the Inquisitor. "My family has been losing lands to this Duke, in some dispute that has been going on for centuries. And now that one of their sons have gained some stature they want to use him as a leverage in their ever-going battle. My say, let them lose it all, it will be for their benefit."

"But the fiancée, your Worship! And let me tell you, a marriage to a well-placed heir would be very beneficial both to your reputation and our liaisons…"

Phoebus sighed and said calmly, but with an indisputable finality to his tone:

"Fuck it. Next."

His ambassador paused, trying to gather her thoughts, and soldiers, who (undoubtedly by the spymaster's orders – to 'contain the information,' of course) acted as servants at this improvised counsel session, used this moment to place the tabletop with dinner on it across the tub.

"Finally!" exhaled the Inquisitor and poured Akasha a glass of wine. "I was fearing that I'd have to go to that reception on an empty stomach."

His partner was not of a shy sort and dug in with a good appetite.

At last, Josephine resumed:

"May I suggest another avenue in the case of the Arl of Redcliffe?"

The Inquisitor asked, his mouth full of roasted duck:

"Let me guess, you want me to go there, kick ass to whatever mages holed up in there and help the good lord restore his property?"

The ambassador nodded.

"In the essence, yes, something like that."

Phoebus even turned to face her.

"Do you realize that both this man and his brother had trouble with magic and demons before?"

"Yes, your Worship."

"So, wouldn't it be wiser to look for a reason why this kind of crap keeps happening to them?" he turned to his spymaster. "Leliana, be a sweetie, dispatch someone to the Arl and ask him precisely two questions: What he eats for dinner, and have he ever asked for something in his sleep."

The chainmailed woman eyed him suspiciously:

"What he eats for dinner? That's the kind of question you want me to ask the Arl of Redcliffe?"

Phoebus's grin was ludicrously smarmy:

"Do you want to object to my orders, my dear? I'm so waiting for this!"

The spymaster strangled all her objections, straightened up and said in a tin soldier's manner:

"Ser, no, Ser!"

"Good," said the Inquisitor and softened "Because if he answers to the second question what I think he'll answer, then I'll have to go pay him a visit, and I hate roasted snouffleurs they cook in Ferelden."

He turned to Akasha and winked to her. She was listening to the conversation with sheer delight.

"So, how do you like it so far?" the man asked her, smiling.

The woman grinned widely:

"Where do I buy tickets for this show?"

He grabbed her by the leg, pulled her toward himself and purred in her ear:

"Oh, right here, my dear."

When he wrapped his head again in a midnight blue silk cowl and put on his metallic mask, he became once again a dark stranger dressed in the color of the night.

He ordered:

"Bring me the man who shamed your security."

And an older balding stick-thin man was brought in a short while.

He didn't look like much, but by the smart glint in his watery blue eyes told Phoebus volumes.

Judging from his clothes, the perpetrator was obviously Orlesian, and, most likely, native of Val Royeaux.

The Inquisitor was standing in the middle of the room and observing the visitor.

The latter was examining the Herald of Andraste with eyes wide, with a deeply religious expression on his face.

Finally, the Inquisitor broke the silence.

"I'm surprised to see such a smart man being entrenched in the illusions of my power. Believe me, I'm no prophet. But if I can help you, I'll do it..."

The perpetrator vigorously shook his head.

"It is me... who can help you, your Worship..."

"Indeed?" the Inquisitor's voice was perfectly neutral.

The visitor nodded.

"I happen to come from a long line of dreamers. We do not possess any magical powers, but our tie to the Fade is special, it allows us to see clearly things to come and to warn of troubles ahead."

The Inquisitor shrugged his shoulders.

"I wouldn't trust the Fade's visions..."

The visitor shook his head again.

"How do you think I passed through your men, your Worship? I saw their posts in my dream!"

The Inquisitor remained silent for some time, his face unreadable under the mask. Then he asked:

"And how detailed are your dreams?"

The visitor parted his palms and sighed:

"Sometimes they are very clear, at other times – not so much."

The man in midnight blue sighed.

"Have you come to offer your services in general or you have something specific to tell me?"

The perpetrator sighed uneasily and his eyes shifted warily to the Herald's companions.

"I could tell you a few valuable things about some... people..."

He looked reluctant to speak more in the presence of such a number of advisors, but the Inquisitor urged him on:

"For all I know, you could be an Antivan Crow just waiting to be left alone with me. Pardon me, but by this time, I'm done trusting just anyone."

The perpetrator nodded manically, as if he had expected such answer.

And, suddenly, he pointed his crooked finger at Akasha saying loudly:

"Then I'll speak with her!"

Advisors' brows shot up in surprise, they started to exchange puzzled glances.

The Inquisitor turned to the woman in a flimsy chemise, his gaze inquiring from under the mask.

"What would you say?" he asked her carefully.

Akasha sized the intruder up and shrugged her shoulders.

"Let him do that."

The Inquisitor took an elegant yataghan from a shelf and handed it to his lover.

"Don't hesitate to use it."

She nodded and made a lazy swing of the blade. By the weightless perfection of the movement, it became obvious that, if need be, the yataghan would drive into the perpetrator in less than a blink of an eye.

Satisfied, the Inquisitor nodded and left, beckoning his retinue to follow him.

As soon as the doors closed, Akasha told the man:

"Now you may as well drop all pretense. You aren't that frail."

And indeed, the visitor straightened his shoulders, blinked a few times and suddenly seemed much less shabby.

He nodded to the woman, acknowledging her and calmly went to sit in a chair.

"You hide well. If not for the Inquisitor, we would have trouble finding you. But strong men predictably are drawn to you, like moths to the flame.

Akasha arched her brow and coldly asked:

"What do the Chasind want from me this time? I've already given my life to that battle. Let me be."

The man shook his head and his once watering eyes now pierced the woman to her core.

"There is no way back to any kind of blind activity they call 'normal life,' and you know that well. You cannot grow back to be little when you've grown large. You will wither and die like a wasted seedling, if you do not accept who you are."

Akasha lowered her eyes.

"And still, I don't want to return to the tribe..."

"No one asks you to. Just do what needs to be done and stop closing your eyes to the truth of what you are."

The woman said nothing. She calmly waited.

The visitor sit for some time, listening to something, then softly uttered:

"A kid of ours got lost in the Fade. We think you are best positioned to find him."

Akasha sighed. Said a bit acidly:

"Of course I am. And that's the reason you came. Not because you missed me."

The visitor shrugged his shoulders indifferently.

"Living here, you adopted such drama. We remember you, as always, must I tell?"

The woman took a short stroll to the window.

"What's the kid's name?"

"Saaro."

She nodded.

"What's with the Inquisitor?"

The visitor made a sour face.

"And what's with him? It's up to you whether or not to involve him. If you need additional incentive, I may add that there is a way to remove his anchor, if need be..."

Akasha breathed easier.

"I was wondering about such possibility... This thing worries me somehow..." she murmured softly.

The visitor nodded again as if to his thoughts and stood up.

"Well, then it's set."

Unhurriedly, he started moving to the exit, when the woman timidly asked:

"And how's... Osaado?"

The name left her tongue with considerable effort.

The visitor turned to the woman, evaluated her at a glance and calmly said:

"Alive and well. Haven't seen him in a while."

The way he told this noticeably relaxed the woman.

She lowered her head.

"Again, my thoughts led me astray..."

The man shrugged.

"You let them."

And he opened the door.

Akasha sighed.

She dressed and went out of the room. Too deep in her feelings to pay attention to curious glances that almost palpated her all over.

The Inquisitor bowed to her, expecting explanations, but she just said: "Let the man go." And resolutely headed to the exit. No one dared stopping her.

The cool evening air calmed her a bit, and she decided to take a stroll down the quay in the gathering darkness.

The pier smelled of fish and seaweeds, the air was thick with salty mist. It felt wonderful.

In about one and a half hour Akasha reached the building housing the spa. She opened the door with her key and entered.

It was too late for anybody to stay in there, so she could freely roam all premises.

The coals in the furnace were still hot, so she easily blew them into fire again. The big water container was already filled, so in half-hour she had herself a luxurious warm bath, filled with flowers and precious oils.

Silence was very welcome now, and Akasha dozed off in the tub until water became cold.

She climbed out, cleaned after herself, refilled the container with the missing volume of water and prepared herself a bed in one of the massage rooms.

Strangely, her thoughts turned to an ancient mountainous forest, where she had felt so good once...

The woman sighed, turned to the other side and fell asleep.

Early in the morning someone woke her up. An uneven voice said:

"Akasha. Time to wake up."

Akasha opened her eyes and saw the spa owner – a pampered lady in her mid- forties.

Usually very self-assured to the point of rudeness, now she looked mixed-up.

"I never knew what it was," she said as if this was a sequel to her ongoing inner monologue. "Last night this emissary from the Inquisition came, banged at the door so loudly that my poodle crapped his bed, told me that the lady Akasha is requested by the Inquisition, saluted me and left me wondering if someone had lost their marbles. Care to explain this apparition?"

Akasha stood up, rubbed her face and said:

"Well, apparently, that's how they do things back on that godforsaken mountain. I was summoned yesterday morning in much the same manner."

The madam rolled her eyes and went to pour herself a glass of sparkling wine.

"And for what, might I ask? Affairs of the state?"

Akasha shrugged.

"Affairs of the ass, more like it."

The spa owner opened her eyes wide.

"You don't say!"

Such a juicy piece of gossip was priceless.

"So, who was the lucky bastard?... Oh wait, let me guess… The mustached mage is gay, that's written all over him, the Qunari would not make such a fuss – and he's not really the type of our customers, their commander Cullen is too sissy… So… The Man himself? How was it?"

Akasha shrugged her shoulders and grinned sweetly.

"I'm still having fantasies about him... He is tender and passionate, and playful, and so strong… So alive... He is absolutely adorable."

The madam twisted her lips into a satisfied crooked smile.

"Sounds good. I bet you're tired, he's such a stud judging by his frame. Is he handsome?"

Akasha sighed and went to make herself a cup of coffee.

"You must've seen him in the city dozens of times. That's Phoebus Trevelyan, you know him."

The spa owner grinned happily and sipped her sparkling wine.

"Do I know him! Half of our clients talk about him on a daily basis. I even know a few girls who claim to have slept with him…" she eyed her employee suspiciously. "What's he found in you, I wonder?"

Akasha shrugged. She was used to this bluntness of the madam, she even found it refreshing from the usual hypocrisy of other people.

"Don't be jealous. It will soon pass..."

The spa owner vigorously shook her head.

"Oh no-no-no! Keep him happy as long as you can, there may be untold benefits for us in it!"

Akasha cast her a sidelong glance.

"Like opening an affiliate in the mountains? I refuse to go there."

The madam beamed with all her teeth.

"C'mon, my dear, don't say 'no' yet, think about it, that will be so great for us!"

Akasha flanged up her hands and poured herself coffee.

"Anyway, that's too soon to tell," she said lipping the drink.

In the late afternoon, she was predictably summoned by an Inquisition messenger. The invitation came to a sea-view restaurant.

The Inquisitor greeted her cordially. His skin was moist and his wet hair was sleeked back, he was dressed in his Trevelyan light colors and seemed to be somewhat at a loss, his eyes were slightly too attentive and a little withdrawn.

Akasha decided not to let this simmer and asked directly:

"Is there something wrong?"

Phoebus waited for the waiter to walk away after pouring them an excellent red wine, Chateau Neuf, five years old.

Then the Inquisitor said quietly:

"I'll just have to decide how to conduct my business with you."

He did not ask about the perpetrator. Akasha examined him more closely but found no other tale-telling signs on his high-cheeked gaunt face.

She tasted her wine and arched her brow:

"Meaning?"

The Inquisitor sighed and put aside his napkin.

"It shouldn't come as a surprise that I know of your conversation with your... ah... business associate. So, tell me, when did you plan on making me a business proposal about the affiliate?"

The woman looked him in the eye calmly and did not respond, waiting for him to unload it all.

"I've known a few courtesans," he continued, trying to maintain some visibility of calm, but his eyes kept switching from fury to pain and back again, "but you didn't seem the type. Mind you, there are also good people among courtesans, like everywhere, prostitutes with hearts of gold… And, truth be told, I would shower you with money, jewels and anything you would just wish... But…"

The woman sighed.

"You think I wasn't honest with you and now are wondering if it was genuine? It was, it is. Doesn't mean I will let any man control me. And no, I don't sleep with just anyone, if that's important to you. You might have asked your spymaster what a hetaera was before summoning me here."

The man seemed shocked.

"A hetaera?..."

Apparently, the meaning of the word was vague to him.

Akasha's eyes acquired a steely glint that boded nothing pleasant.

"If you don't know what that is it's your loss."

Phoebus frowned.

"All right, I'm an ignorant peasant. But can you at least tell me what was it between us?"

She let out a short laugh.

"My day started with the same question." She paused. "Frankly, I don’t know what to make of you. You barged into my life like a bronto, you waived your magic hand, which made it practically impossible for me to refuse you even if out of gratitude we all feel to the Inquisitor… let me finish… And you really are so awesome… I was ready for a quick, light summer romance, a little intrigue, but certainly not for all these summonings, these political consequences, military parades and other such stuff. That's _so_ out of my world!"

She paused again and added:

"That's why I told Zanita about our... thing. To protest such invasion. I don't care for her ambitions and business plans, I like the place as it is. I've been dragged into something that's so… unwanted."

Phoebus lowered his eyes. They were a bit more moist than usual.

He swallowed hard and said quietly.

"And I had the feeling that you of all people could navigate such heavy seas… But now I'm listening to a frightened little girl. A pity, really."

Akasha winced, as it rang very similar to what the Chasind had said earlier, and stood up.

"Even if I **_can_** do something doesn't mean I **_want to_**. I apologize if my behavior turned out to be not up to your standards, your Worship. At least I was truthful with you all the way."

And she made to leave but the Inquisitor caught her by the hand.

"Earlier you said that you could imagine many circumstances where you would not have any peace of mind, but still you'd be feeling that you were doing the right thing. Is that true too?"

She said simply:

"Yes."

Phoebus closed his eyes and sighed.

"I'll survive if you choose to leave. I will even find myself another good woman to laugh with and care for. But I want **_you_** , so badly in fact, that I can hardly think of anything else these days. And ask yourself, what if you miss this opportunity to do something different, to shake this cozy little world of yours? What if you'll regret it?"

Akasha lowered her head.

"I was asking myself the same questions."

"Did you find answers?"

"I did…….. I would certainly regret it…… But... I don’t want to do it for the wrong reasons."

Phoebus's gaze drifted to the horizon and back.

He said in a neutral voice:

"I know the lure of the unknown, as well as the art of risk taking. So, I will ask you only one question before we pass on to other things: what would make you feel that you do the right thing? You may choose not to answer me. As I've said earlier, do whatever you wish. I will only need an answer on whether you choose rose fish in pine seeds or banney's heart in honey and pomegranate sauce?"

The woman shrugged her shoulders.

"And there I was thinking that you'd ask me about the yesterday's visitor."

The Inquisitor made a lazy gesture.

"I figured you'd tell me if it were something important. And by the looks you had when you left yesterday, I thought that this visit was paid to you more than to me."

She sighed and sat down again, her tone calm and businesslike:

"He basically wants me to find a kid lost in the Fade. But, as with all Chasind assignments, nothing is as it sounds. I should prepare..."

Phoebus arched his brow, sipping his wine, and cast her a curious glance.

"A Chasind? I thought there was something off about the man. Do you want any help with the Fade? I suppose he could have asked me instead..."

Akasha's gaze traveled to the horizon.

"Maybe."

"So these tales of his dreamer services are just tales?"

The woman made a vague gesture.

"Maybe. Maybe not. Too much speculation at this point. The kid must be a dreamer's apprentice, and if the man himself could not retrieve his pupil, then it's not good. And I am a far worse dreamer than even his apprentice..."

The Inquisitor grew curious.

"Then what, he expects us to enter the Fade physically? If so, my glowing hand will definitely be of use..."

Akasha slowly nodded. Her thoughtful gaze traveled to the man's left hand and lingered there.

"But why would the entrance must be physical?"

The man thought it over.

"While there in the flesh, I was certainly wide awake, and my perceptions were limited by what I can and cannot do in the real world... But the feeling of my body was certainly most reassuring..."

The woman uttered pensively:

"Maybe that coupled with my training will do the work... It needs to be checked out..."

**-O-**

Sera was sitting on the roof of the estate housing the Inquisition and was listening to crickets.

The Inquisitor was one of few men she liked, so she felt a tinge of disquiet when thinking about that business with the tunnel.

It led to the bowels of the earth, deeper that the Deep Roads, and Sera was relieved when that thing collapsed. And now they were digging it all up again!

"Shite!" she mumbled and spit through her teeth, hoping lazily to get a cricket with her saliva.

She hesitated. Maybe she should blow it up or something? And the crew would abandon this stupid idea? After all, it was dwarven business to begin with, so let them sort out their troubles on their own!

"Penny for your thought," sounded a voice right above her head.

"Shite!" in a glimpse, she scrambled to her feet only to see a dark hooded silhouette lower himself to take a seat beside her.

"You scared the nitwits outta me!" cried out Sera, putting her dagger back into its scabbard.

"Sorry. I thought you had better hearing," laughed Phoebus, patting on her seat.

"That's meant like a joke because of my ears? Ha-ha! Funny. Next time you'll be laughing with my blade under your ribs!"

"Ha-ha!"

She frowned as she sat back down beside the man.

"Confess it, you did it on purpose, just to startle me."

"Indeed."

"'Indeed'! Told you, next time you'll be in big trouble."

"I hear you," he laughed carelessly. "So, what's up here, brooding and all?"

Sera sniffled and said:

"I don't like this tunnel thing! That's just… icky! Let them dwarves sort it out, their mess!"

The Inquisitor shrugged his shoulders and said simply:

"We promised."

**-O-**

Akasha lay in her bed with no prospect of sleep. She gave no thought to the upcoming entrance into the Fade, because there was no way she could prepare for it, it could only be lived through.

Instead her thoughts drifted to a more nagging subject...

Clearly, what she lacked was the right motivation in the whole Inquisition-related affair. To drop everything and go beyond the land of the living just to have sex with the Inquisitor did not seem like the right incentive. To fight again? Out of the question! Truly, there were lots of curious aspects to this adventure, but she knew all those curious things for what they really were –shiny baubles that would soon weather away, and she would be left with no cause to stay. And she understood that, indeed, she could not calculate all the variables, so it all boiled down to the feeling of doing the right thing, to the tug that she was feeling for the last week, to the feel of a new page turning... There definitely was something in it for her...

Finally satisfied, she stood up, went down the stairs and opened the door to the street.

It seemed deserted, but she knew better.

So she said out loud:

"Tell him I agree. But not for the sake of his whim. I'm doing it for myself."

Then she bolted the door and went to have a sound sleep.

**-O-**

She was awaken by a nice smell of coffee and opened her eyes.

First, she saw a plate with a cup of steaming drink and a lavish breakfast, then the handsome devil Trevelyan sitting in an armchair nearby.

Akasha mumbled:

"I distinctly remember locking the door last night."

Phoebus shrugged.

"Your lock could hold out only a cat."

The woman sighed and sat in the bed.

"Good to know."

The man picked a second cup from the plate and sipped his coffee. He darted a furtive sideward gaze on the woman from under his eyelashes and said lightly:

"Got educated on hetaeras last night. And now I've got no idea how to behave around you."

The woman sighed, smiled and took her cup.

"All right. You knew how to behave before you learned, right?"

"Yes."

"So continue doing just that. Be yourself."

Trevelyan frowned.

"Much of what I heard sounds like a fairy tale."

Akasha put the cup on the plate and shrugged her shoulders. Her gaze was serene and warm.

"And how did you feel around me?"

Phoebus held her gaze and said truthfully:

"Like in a fairy tale."

She smiled and took her cup again.

"There you have it."

His eyes narrowed.

"Is there some kind of contract to be signed?"

The woman took a sip of coffee and shrugged.

"I haven't decided yet. You're like a puppy, there is too much fuss with you."

The man pierced her with his attentive stare.

"No. That's not it. I can sense it. Remember I told you we are the same? I can read you too."

Akasha looked back at him and then lowered her eyes.

"Maybe. But I'll leave it to myself."

Phoebus instantly softened and nodded.

"You have every right to..."

He paused then switched the subject:

"I got a report of some commotion here in the street late last night," he said nonchalantly. "You know what it was?"

The woman made a sip from the cup and sighed.

"This is a very busy part of town."

Phoebus's grey eyes were warm and glinting with trickery. He enjoyed playing with her.

"So, nothing happened, you say?"

She made an vague gesture.

"Depends on your definition of 'happening'."

He grinned.

"That so? Well, I'd be curious to know of anything happening in this street. You know, this street stirs a lot of good memories…"

Akasha smiled like a cat and replied:

"Then ask more precisely, and maybe I'll answer."

"Oh, so sure of yourself!"

"So that you don't think that everything belongs to you."

She picked a slice of cucumber from the plate and put it onto her tongue. It tasted fresh and crunchy.

Phoebus hemmed and asked:

"Do you still mean what you said last night?"

Akasha's gaze went inward, as if she was asking herself the same question.

Then she said:

"Yes."

"Would you repeat it to me?"

She looked at him inquisitively, but the way he asked it did not suggest any mockery.

"I said I would go with you not for the sake of having sex but for my own sake. And I will leave whenever I feel like it."

He nodded, and suddenly the same trickster smile came to his lips.

"Did you yell the 'S' word just like that, for the whole street to hear?"

She shrugged.

"That's not the worst thing they ever heard."

He smiled and asked pensively:

"So, do you truly think that that's just a whim of mine?"

The woman got up from bed and went to the pitcher of water and the basin standing on a small table near a wall.

"I'm sure of it. For you, I'm just a riddle to be cracked, or, more like it, you are just stubborn and want to have it your way."

Phoebus thought it over.

"Maybe you are right, but maybe you are just trying to shield yourself from the other half of the truth."

"Which is…?"

"I like you. A lot. And you like me, I know it. So, if you decide to join me in my errands, for whatever reason, I'll accept any explanation. No strings attached."

Akasha exhaled with a long-restrained relief.

And Phoebus continued:

"This afternoon, our trade partners promised your associate Zanita a base for a massage salon in Skyhold."

Akasha grew silent for a while. Her associate's ravenous appetites weren't high on her priority list.

After a while, she asked:

"Listen Phoebus. There is something I do not quite grasp… You are handsome, rich, spoilt, sure of yourself to the point of arrogance. In my experience, such people do not strive to have deep meaningful relationships, and neither are they too smart in general – pardon my bluntness. But you are clever, you are good to people and just to your subordinates, you have an independent opinion on most things… Why do you keep clinging to me?"

Phoebus's lucid eyes sized her up. He smiled.

"Remember, I told Leliana not to label me? Yes, I'm all that: rich, spoilt, egotistical and handsome. But also, as I've already told you, I've had very rough teenage years that taught me something. Thanks to my curiosity I've been almost killed by stupid and humiliating death a few times, which kick-started my brains and taught me not to take anything for granted. Especially my looks. In fact, I know precisely the value of my face features, for they lead me to trouble more times than they helped solve anything, especially in issues that matter, and not some social crap. So, to sum up all my bragging, I'm a self-made man, I keep my priorities straight, and when I see a kindred spirit, I try to give her all the chances that she deserves."

"Chances for what?"

"To stop procrastinating in that lulling coziness. To resume your real life."

Akasha studied his face.

"Sounds like too good to be true."

Phoebus shrugged.

"What I offer costs me nothing. And I only keep the door open, I won' be the one dragging you through. Everything you do is your own doing."

]

The Duke de Ronsimon, the Inquisition's proud host at Val Royeaux, was most insistent.

"Tonight, your Worship should definitely attend our opera house! The performance will be top-rated, as usual, but that's not the main attraction this evening. This will be a very special night of illusion and fantasy. The whole amphitheater will be dressed in the phantasmagorical decorations of the Thousand's Dreams show, the seats will be replaced with banquettes, exquisite ladies dressed as fairies will mingle with people and everyone will be part of the performance."

Trevelyan grinned naughtily and summed up:

"So, we are basically to drink our weight in sparkling wine and whore around?"

The Duke paused but then smirked and nodded:

"Yes, that would roughly be the essence of it…"

The Inquisitor shrugged his shoulders.

"Sounds good to me. When do we go?"

The Duke brightened up.

"Ah, that's excellent, your Worship! The performance starts at nine, but there's no point in showing up until eleven."

Phoebus made it to the opera house dressed as a regular cookie-pusher from the Free Marches, lightest mint-blue silk costume and uncovered face.

His appearance drew moans, and sighs, and excited whoops from the assembly and marked the start of a full-fledged orgy.

A dazzling eunuch singer dressed as a fantastic bird came to Trevelyan with a cooking pot-sized goblet full of rose-scented sparkling wine and started to sing an aria with a voice so beautiful, that Phoebus even forgot about his wine.

Then the latter was instantly engulfed by a crowd of debutantes and social animals, all of them trying to interact with him. The boldest ones were fondling him, caressing his body, licking his ears, neck and cheeks, were pressing their bodies to him.

Phoebus laughed aloud, rolling his head back, then drank from the over-sized goblet as much as he could ingest at once, and pulled the closest veiled face to his lips.

Women and girls, surrounding him, howled and started ripping off his clothes.

Phoebus giggled, made his way to a banquette, drank from the goblet again, and let the lionesses get rid of the last trace of any fabric from his frame. And then every inch of his whole body got covered by hungry lips, tongues and hands. His cock and testicles were sucked simultaneously by several mouths, his limbs were vibrating from all the kisses, his lips soon grew sore from so many passionate mouths.

The performance went on, the divine music was covering the hubbub of voices, dancers were coiling into fanciful figures and flame-throwers spitted high tongues of fire into the ceiling.

A fantastical figure of indefinite gender singing like a desire demon made way to the star of the evening, cleared a bit the crowd and sang in front of Phoebus, shielding him from the sides with its long-feathered arms.

A few other figures joined it, lifted the man to his feet and started performing a complicated dance around him, caressing his body with their colorful wings. Then another dancer came and crowned him with a garland of flowers and washed him in scented water with a soft sponge.

" _Kneel before – our god of dawn_ ," sang the fantastic singer, and bowed low before Phoebus. " _And let his spell – bestow tender bliss – upon you_ …"

His entourage bowed, then the dancers started throwing at him rose petals and scented glittery powder, his moist body quickly becoming a brilliant statue of amazing beauty.

Another sigh escaped lips of his followers, and he, after a successful attempt at finishing the contents of the bucket-sized goblet, got swallowed again by the human sea.

Not only his genitals, but also his sphincter was licked clean to the point that Phoebus came just by the virtue of the intensity of the internal massage. Someone's tongue did a thorough job on his prostate and the man had to grip a few lovers so as not to lose his balance. His semen did not even touch the floor, so quickly it was licked and consumed with the utmost fervor.

Then honey was poured onto him, and his lovers smeared it further on his skin by rubbing their bodies against him. Their mouths and tongues got him heated up again, and, one by one, they went to sit on his cock, most of them coming in a few strokes, for their desire had been steaming for so long.

Leliana was stepping carefully on the tacky floor over sleeping bodies of the Val Royeaux elite in a desperate attempt to find the one needed body.

She had been entertaining a hope that the green light on his palm would give him away, but then she remembered him carefully securing a thick leather strip on his palm with an adhesive patch, and her hope vanished.

However, the biggest pile of surrounding bodies did give him up.

Leliana saw a large cluster of female forms and went in that direction to check it.

She found the Herald of Andraste soundly snoring, covered in glitter and something viscous.

She shook him by the shoulder, but he didn't wake up.

The spymaster straightened up and reviewed her options. She could not allow anyone in the Inquisition to see him like this, not even her scouts. This would totally destroy his authority.

She tried to lift him, but he was heavy as hell.

So she sighed, sat on the sofa beside him and prepared to patiently wait.

In about four hours she made a new attempt at waking him up.

This time, the Inquisitor opened one eye and, upon seeing his master-spy, moaned and turned to the other side.

"Let me be, you foul creature," he mumbled when she shook his shoulder again.

"You need to get up and leave here at once," Leliana told him in a loud whisper, nervously watching surrounding sleepers for any signs of consciousness.

"No."

She stirred.

"What do you mean 'no'?"

The man snorted.

"I can't."

"Why? Are you hurt?"

"No. Yes. I dunno."

"Then why can't you get up?"

"I can't move."

The spymaster jumped to her feet.

"What's happened to you?"

Phoebus sighed.

"I'm spent."

Leliana roared with powerless anger.

"You're such an idiot! You are so unworthy of your high title that a whoreson would be more worthy of it than you are, you useless piece of garbage!"

He laughed, amused. Without turning his head, he asked:

"Isn't it relieving to get it finally off your chest?"

Leliana paced back and forth, her arms clutched tightly at her chest for the fear she might try to kill the man if she would allow herself.

"Get up!" she snapped. "And let's go!"

"I can't," he repeated. But this time he elaborated "Unless you bring me some clothes…"

"And where are your clothes?"

"Oh, around…. Ripped to shreds, most likely."

The spymaster helplessly flanged up her hands.

"But of course! How could that be otherwise!"

She went to the nearest decoration and tore off a piece of curtain. Then she came back to the man and threw the cloth onto him.

"Now cover yourself and get up!"

He laughed, turned to his back and stretched leisurely, never opening his eyes.

"So commanding!" he mocked her, yawning.

Leliana started to pace before him again in the vain hopes that her anger would subside a bit.

Phoebus opened his eyes, and, seeing his spymaster's fury, laughed, carefully lifted himself and sat on the sofa.

"You're so cute when you're angry," he said, smiling at her merrily and absent-mindedly scratching his chest.

The woman growled, and he judged the level of her rage to be too high to take another joke, so he bent to the floor, scooped a vase with an ounce of wine left in it and sipped it thirstily.

"Good-for-nothing human trash," spat out Leliana, looking at the Inquisitor with revulsion and indignation.

"I heard it the first time," said Phoebus tartly, straightening, and his clear eyes sparkled in a way that suggested that he had recuperated his full capacity and that he wasn't inclined to accept more verbal abuse than was necessary to let the woman blow off her steam.

But he couldn't hold out his trickster nature for long, and, after subduing the angry woman with his piercing gaze, he tried to shake off some glitter from his body, grinned to her, removed the curtain from his hips and outstretched his arms toward his spymaster.

"Now, come and say hello to me properly, my dear beauty," he purred invitingly.

That was it. Leliana uttered a bestial roar and launched onto the man, fists first.

But he effortlessly caught her, let her hit him a few times and wrought her in a grip so tight that she could only squirm and coil, and kick the air like a wild dracolisk.

"You hit me in the ear, you angry lurker, you know that? It was a glancing blow, but still, it hurts!" he said laughing.

Leliana hummed and bit him in his biceps.

"Ouch! Whatever for?!"

But he held on tight, not letting her go, and in a few minutes her anger started to slowly subside.

She still kicked, and squirmed, and wriggled, but the rage began seeping away.

"Now, good, good girl," the man was whispering soothingly, cajoling her like a baby. "Sweet girl, good girl…"

About half-hour passed before Leliana finally broke into tears.

"You…" she sniffled "You're so ungrateful!... We sacrificed so much for you… I sacrificed so much for you…"

He murmured in the same soft soothing tone:

"Yes, yes, I'm an ungrateful bastard, that's true… And you're so smart, so dedicated, so loyal… You're such a gem…"

The spymaster was now shaking with tears, her face wet and clinging to his bitten biceps.

Carefully, as if he would be handling a snake, Phoebus freed one hand and stroked the woman's head.

"Now, now… C'mon… Such a beautiful girl…"

In an instant, Leliana's facial expression changed from relaxed and appeased to focused and calculated. She moaned in the tear-ridden little girl's voice:

"Please… please… don't make my job any harder!"

Phoebus stroked her shoulder. A playful but tender smile lit up his face.

"If you kiss me…"

Leliana stirred, put on her seductress persona and turned to the man.

"If that's what you want…" she whispered in a husky voice, mounting him and kissing him expertly on the mouth.

He enjoyed her kiss, but when she ended it, he sighed, put the woman onto the sofa and stood up.

"Sometimes I wonder if you are beyond repair," he said with a trace of regret, turning to her and putting on the curtain like a toga.

Trevelyan entered the spa regally: a sparkling figure draped in what looked like a piece of curtain, with blond hair in a total mess, standing on end in caked spikes, and a satisfied grin on a tired face.

Even madam Zanita was impressed.

"Wow. My congratulations, Sire. Full package?"

He nodded.

"Yes, please."

The spa owner poured a flute of sparkling wine and offered it to the man, saying: "On the house."

Phoebus winced at the sight of the wine, and Zanita instantly asked: "Coffee then?"

Trevelyan nodded.

The spa owner offered a seat to his companion, the red-headed woman with a grim expression on her otherwise cute face, and beckoned someone behind the curtain to the inner premises to come in.

Four teenage elves, two boys and two girls entered the lobby and bowed to the customer.

Madam Zanita instructed them:

"Full package, and please be most careful, this is our most precious guest."

Then she personally conducted the Inquisitor to the bath, left him there to the care of the elves and went to prepare coffee.

Fresh silk chemise cooled his aching skin.

Phoebus sighed with relief.

Leliana was staring at him reproachfully.

Trevelyan cast a glance at her and said, while easing himself into brais:

"What? I'm not your ideal husband?"

The spymaster sighed.

"You're not my ideal anything."

Phoebus grinned and said:

"Fair enough."

Leliana had to go buy him clothes, for she insisted on total secrecy, and although she chose silk, as he had specified, the colors left much to be desired. The pants were of murky brownish-khaki color, and the jacket was… well, of about the same species.

"Whom did you kill to obtain such astounding rarity?" inquired Phoebus, fastening buttons on his pants.

His spymaster argued:

"In this color, you will attract less attention…"

He rolled his eyes.

"Riiiight. And become the joke of this whole side of Thedas."

He smelled the tissue of the jacket and wrinkled his nose.

Then mumbled: "Really?!" and went to find madam Zanita.

When she lifted her eyes on him, he simply said: "Help", and she nodded, already assessing his stature.

"Tough luck finding a jacket for you," she commented half-enviously and got up to go.

Phoebus sighed.

"Anything but this!"

The spa owner winked at him and smiled.

"I know just what you need."

And she left.

As soon as she did so, Trevelyan stopped displaying any signs of dismay, poured himself another coffee and went to study the rooms, moving quietly like an Antivan Crow.

But as soon as madam Zanita returned, he started acting again like a boy of twelve.

She brought him fashionable clothes this time, and he was left delighted by the sheen of the morning lavender suit.

On his way out, he kissed the spa owner gratefully on the cheek, gestured his spymaster to follow him, and stepped into the late afternoon breeze.

Leliana was hoping that her charge would go straight to the estate, but she was out of luck today.

He strolled, almost prancing, and was insufferable in every way.

"Mom, mom, buy me a balloon, I want a balloon, a red one! No, a blue one...!"

And when she decided she would not fall again for his pranks, he stopped dead in his tracks, stared at a gondola passing by and said:

"I'm hungry."

Leliana sighed impatiently:

'There is all manner of delicacies back at the estate, and we are only a ten minutes’ walk from it."

'No," said the insufferable brat. "I want to dine now, in that floating restaurant."

The spymaster started to pray to Andraste to give her patience.

Phoebus listened to the prayer, laughed and went toward the boat that housed a fancy restaurant.

He boarded the floating marvel, and when Leliana stepped onto the deck, he instantly said to the maître-d’hôtel: "She is not with me", and the maître-d' moved to the woman, frowning.

But the spoilt nobleman laughed and said: "Sorry, Ser, I was just joking, she is with me, really. Please give us a table at the starboard."

Maître-d' bowed and ushered them to lovely table by the railing.

Phoebus nodded, ordered tea and gallantly pulled the chair for Leliana.

She scoffed:

"Seriously? I half-expect you to pull it out from under me."

Phoebus clicked his fingers:

"Dang! What a brilliant idea, what a shame it's not mine."

He pushed the seat under the woman and purred into her ear:

"Don't worry, I'll do that the next time."

And went to seat himself in front of her.

Leliana sighed.

"Just you wait, one day you'll pester me enough that I'll kill you, Corypheus or no Corypheus."

Phoebus laughed nonchalantly:

"Bah! If you start killing me by riding me like you did earlier today, I'm sure we'll end by sleeping together."

Leliana sighed, exasperated, then showed him his thumb and index finger in very close proximity.

"You are this close to get thrown overboard!"

Trevelyan wrinkled his nose.

"Such simple punishment. Not enough imagination." he paused, looking at the sea. "However, water must be warm enough for a good swim today…"

At this, he swiftly grabbed his spymaster by the collar and swung her above the railing.

She yelled and landed with a loud splash into salty water.

Apparently, such amusements happened fairly regularly on this boat, because the waiter, poker-faced, quickly brought in a set of towels.

At this point, Phoebus noticed that Leliana had trouble reaching the low deck designed for such swimmers.

"Don't tell me you're wearing your stupid chainmail!" he exhaled, kicking off his shoes and throwing his jacket into the apt hands of the waiter.

He plunged into water and cried out in surprise – salt in the water started to eat out at his irritated skin. But he clenched his teeth and succeeded in reaching the woman just in time before her head went below water.

Phoebus pulled her out, pushed onto the deck and tried to lift himself up as well, when Leliana, with a small triumphant grin, kicked him back into water.

Trevelyan swam up and laughed:

"That's the second time you got me today. Wait until I even the score."

Leliana laughed derisively:

"You're too dumb to do that!"

"Riiiiight!" drawled Phoebus, and started taking his clothes off. Then he threw everything at Leliana and swam farther into the sea. "We'll see to that. Now could you please order me a paella with octopus's ink, and give my clothes to the waiter to dry them a bit. I'll be back in ten minutes."

He rubbed his face, washing off persistent traces of omni-present glitter, and swam at high speed farther away.

Truth be told, he was tired of his own buffoonery, and his body needed the exercise.

When he came back, the table was already set, and his paella arrived as soon as he put on a fluffy blanket and sat at the table.

The tea was standing before him, cooling.

The man eyed it suspiciously, then observed his spymaster.

"Admit it, did you poison this tea?" he asked her, trying to sniff any irregular odor.

She shrugged her shoulders.

"I'm not that petty."

"It's something terrible with my new clothes then?"

"I need to bring you back to the estate without any further ado."

"What is it then? I'm dying of curiosity!"

"See? You're already dying."

"That's unfair!"

"Beat it!"

Phoebus sighed and started to hungrily swallow the paella. It was tasty.

"I thought you'd add so much pepper to it, that it will become inedible," he confessed.

Leliana shook her head.

"Sadly, we all need you healthy enough to lead the expedition tomorrow to the tunnel."

Trevelyan clicked his fingers.

"Dang! So, that's not a laxative either!"

The woman stomped her foot impatiently.

"I'm not playing your childish games, you moron!"

Phoebus sighed, said: "Alas", and resumed his meal.

They sat at the restaurant until late evening. After a period of long mutual silence, with the wash of the sea lulling them into a dreamy daze, Phoebus looked at his spymaster and saw that she looked at him with a very strange, mixed expression.

"A penny for your thought," he said without any quirk.

And she answered plainly:

"I was thinking… When you are not trying to get at me… When you stay silent…"

"I become irresistible?"

"Damn it, you spoiled the moment! Is it so much to ask of you to stay silent for one damn moment and shut the fuck up?!"

"Woah! Honey, you must love me dearly!"

"But I do!" she blurted out and regretted it as soon as it came out of her mouth.

But Trevelyan was much more of a gentleman than he had been an unbearable bastard.

He sighed gently, took his chair, moved it close to the woman and placed his arm around her shoulders.

Exhausted, she put her head on his shoulder and stared at the candle on the table.

She didn't want to say anything, he didn't ask. He just was there for her.

His eyes sandy, he threw away his moist clothes and crawled into bed, promising to himself to kick in the head anyone who would dare to wake him up, and he fell asleep the moment his head touched the pillow.

**-O-**

Akasha woke up with a start. Someone was in the house. Everything was quiet and dark, but Akasha just felt someone's presence.

Silently, she drew up a blade from a sheath affixed to the bottom of the bed and crawled down the stairs.

A female silhouette was standing near the door studying the premises.

But when Akasha drew near, the woman said in a familiar voice:

"I was wondering, when to address you. But with that mayhem called the Inquisitor I couldn't find the right moment… At first, I couldn't recognize you. But it is really you, milady Cousland?"

Akasha lowered her blade and drew still nearer to the uninvited guest.

"I don't know who you are talking about."

Leliana stepped forward, her eyes caught in a beam of light projected from a window.

"Queen of Ferelden, Mother to the Heir, here, a bath attendant at an Orlesian whorehouse. I nearly cried, when I saw you like this. How is Alistair handling your absence?"

The host of the house frowned.

"You are confusing me with someone, master spy."

Leliana sighed.

"I've almost tracked down Zevran… Maybe _his_ fate interests you more?"

Akasha went to the kitchen and threw her leaf-shaped black bronze blade onto the table and took a cup of water. At one moment, she was on the verge of saying something, but then contained herself and calmly drank her water.

"I don't know these people," she told in a husky voice. "And you can find the exit on your own."

This said, she took the gladius and went upstairs to her bedroom without casting another glance at the visitor.

But Leliana was not ready to give up yet.

She cried:

"There are no rifts in Chasind lands. Do you know why?"

Akasha paused for a second, for she knew the answer. But then she went straight to bed.

**-O-**

The Inquisition's embassy moved slowly through the mountains, accompanied by merchants, workmen, settlers and a group of soldiers.

Akasha, warmly dressed, was riding a small but sturdy pacer and was humming a monotonous tune.

Phoebus was riding near, in his usual dark leather armor of the Inquisitor, one knee high, his heel pushing against the saddle, the other foot dangling freely from the mount's torso. He was casually keeping the whole caravan within the scope of his attention while practicing his bow shots. He would fire a few arrows ahead of the caravan into some solid obstacles, like trees or old abandoned carts, then, when he would level with the arrows, he would pick them up without leaving his mount, and send again a few arrows ahead.

Such practice was evidently very frequent, because nobody from his retinue was paying any attention to his shooting.

In a while, the Iron Bull, Dorian and Varric rode up to the Inquisitor and beckoned him to move aside.

"So, what's up, my boys' club?" Phoebus asked, watching a cluster of his arrows come closer.

"Listen..." Varric's face displayed a mixture of curiosity and embarrassment.

The Iron Bull intervened and blurted out:

"We've been told there was this huge event in the opera at Val Royeaux, and that you attended it…."

Phoebus nodded.

"Yes, so?"

Dorian scoffed and exclaimed:

"So! They want you to tell them how it went! And I'm merely curious if singers were good enough."

Phoebus winked at him and said:

"You would've enjoyed it too. Someone licked my ass there in a way that reminded me of your interests."

The Iron Bull and Varric whooped luridly, and Dorian narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"And did you enjoy it?"

Phoebus laughed.

"You bet I did. What's not to like when your whole surface gets fucked?"

"What do you mean?" asked Varric.

"I mean there were about fifty people around me, kissing, licking, sucking my cock and what's not. Mainly girls, of course, but I couldn't be sure if all of them were female."

The Iron Bull grunted contentedly.

"Tell us more!"

The Inquisitor shrugged his shoulders, swung his upward knee down, flexed and pressed his other leg to the convex side of his mount, lowered almost to the ground and picked up his arrows.

But his lips – practically the only thing they could see from under his hood – curled into a slightly mischievous grin, when no one could see that.

He said, straightening up and assuming his poker-face again:

"What's there to tell? It was good, I survived it, end of story."

His crew looked disappointed.

The Inquisitor sighed.

"Look guys, here's not the right time nor place. Let's get to Skyhold, we'll go to the tavern to have a beer or ten, and I'm sure something will come back to me."

They nodded and left the man alone to his practice.

In a few hours, Phoebus picked up the last set of arrows, put them back into their quiver, and removed the string from his bow.

Then he put away special fingertips made of thick leather, removed his gloves and oiled his fingers with a salve. After that, in order to put out the bright light on his hand, he put his gloves back on.

Both people and mounts were getting tired but nobody wanted to get another break until the night rest, so the caravan continued to push forward, plowing through thick snow.

Phoebus rode back closer to Akasha and asked her warmly:

"So. How are you faring so far?"

She shrugged her shoulders.

"So far so good."

"No regrets yet?"

"Plenty."

The Inquisitor cast a more attentive look at her.

"Ready to turn back?" he asked in an even tone, not judging.

The woman shook her head.

"Not yet."

Phoebus smiled.

"Good then..." he paused, hesitant. "Did you hear me and the boys?"

"Yep," she admitted, not a single muscle moving on her smooth face. "I'm not the one to judge. Actually, I'm happy for you, if you enjoyed it."

The Inquisitor looked at her carefully, trying to read her.

"Then... No shouting match?"

She cast him a sultry look.

"Is it what you want, a shouting match?"

The man laughed.

"Well, I'm just used to such women's behavior..."

She smiled.

"But didn't you know that I'm not 'such' a woman?"

Slightly embarrassed, the man laughed.

"I'm only beginning to discover what it means to be... like you..."

Akasha looked him in the eye and said:

"I like having personal space. So, whore around as usual, remember, I'm not here for your sake."

The Inquisitor laughed.

"I whore around only in Val Royeaux. In Skyhold, I have neither time nor inclination to do maids and female soldiers."

Akasha stared at him with curiosity.

"Why not? After all, you do spa workers..."

Phoebus sighed.

"Spa workers aren't my responsibility. Weren't, until recently..."

The woman giggled.

"So, no more sex between us? What a relief!"

The man looked vexed.

"Relief? It couldn't be that bad!"

She laughed.

"Now you'll wrack your brains!"

He scoffed.

"Oh, just you wait until the castle!"

Akasha shrugged her shoulders and spurred her little pacer into a quicker but as comfortable stride.

A galloping horse would catch up with her in no time, but Phoebus chose not to go after the woman.

"Seems she cries in her sleep," suddenly said a woman riding a furry pony.

"What did you just say?" exclaimed the Inquisitor, frowning. "Her? The lady I just spoke to? You mean cry like yell or like tears?"

"Like tears. Or when she sees a crooked tree, or when crows start croaking..."

Phoebus repeated under his breath, to remember: "crooked trees and croaking crows..."

"And who are you, my good woman?"

The traveler bowed to him.

"Jenny Ripkins, your Worship, going to cook for your men. I know that's not my affair, but this friend of yours... She needs care."

The Inquisitor pensively nodded.

"Thanks, Jenny. Much appreciate."

He spurred his mount, and the beast carried him to the group of his advisors.

"Leliana, I need to speak with you," uttered the man and rode away to a safe distance.

His spymaster exchanged glances with Josephine and Cassandra, and followed her boss.

"What's Akasha's story?" he asked without any preamble.

"NOW you're asking!" frowned his spymaster. "What kicked you?"

The Inquisitor let slip this time the frivolity and just kept waiting for the answer. But Leliana surprised him as she said:

"Ask her yourself."

Phoebus arched his brow, but of course it wasn't visible from under the hood.

"Can't believe it you don't know something!"

And his spymaster surprised him again when she said:

"It's not my story to tell."

Phoebus grew thoughtful, nodded to Leliana and rode away, mumbling under his breath: "croaking crying of crooked crows in trees..."

Lost in thought, he put fingers to his lips and nearly missed the marking on a boulder.

But when he saw it, he stood up in his stirrups and said loudly: "We've passed the marking. Time to camp!"

People passed the word in all directions– for it was unwise to yell in the mountains– and the caravan halted.

People made a decent bivouac and started preparing for the night.

An hour later, when night fell suddenly as it did in this region, and after a hot supper, the Inquisitor assigned night watchmen and went to take a tour of the camp.

After making sure that everyone was well fed and had warm sleeping places, Phoebus grabbed an extra fur and went to find Akasha.

She was already settling down in her small tent, and when he came in, she just lay down.

"Came to warm you up," he said striding behind her and starting to settle down as well.

"I'm warm enough," objected the woman uncharacteristically curtly.

"Not asking," said Phoebus matter-of-factly, hugging her by the waist from behind and putting the huge fur on top of them both.

The woman frowned slightly.

"I told you, here, it will be very different from Val Royeaux..."

The Inquisitor closed his eyes, buried his face in her hair and murmured:

"What, you'll transform into someone else?"

Her frown deepened.

"Something like that."

The man smiled and sighed with satisfaction.

"Good. I'm pro diversity."

She was still tense, so he stroked her shoulder a few times and said: "now sleep".

But she was restless. Something was on her mind, and she finally voiced it:

"I know that's not the right time... But... your mark..."

Phoebus leaned on his elbow, looked into her face and urged her, displaying his attention:

"Yes? What's with it?"

Akasha sighed.

"Have you ever considered removing it?"

The Inquisitor let out a short laugh.

"I have been considering it since the day I got it. Gave me nothing but trouble. I just wish I knew how..."

The woman nodded.

"But it's been useful so far. Right?"

The man looked at her appraisingly.

"Indeed. But what are you leading to?"

Akasha turned to lie on her back and faced her friend.

"It probably would be a good idea to remove it at some point..."

Phoebus frowned.

"Yes, definitely. Do you know a way?"

She hesitated. Then said finally:

"I know a man... If he considers it interesting enough... If he finds you interesting enough..."

The Inquisitor did not pry on the subject, as he was clearly seeing how much tumult it raised in his friend, so he simply said:

"All right then. I'll ask you to introduce me when time comes."

She gladly nodded.

It seemed that all conversations ended for today, and yet, after a while, Trevelyan raised his head and listened to his friend's breathing.

She stirred and turned her head toward him.

"Listen..." he articulated barely audibly. "I know that you've been living with a broken heart... and that this very important man in your life did it... I'm sorry I cannot undo what he has done, but... I can be near you if you need me..."

Under the warm blankets and furs they fell asleep fast enough and slept soundly until next morning.

As the Inquisitor opened his eyes and met hers, he instantly felt that she became more calm, less defensive.

"So much for miss Independence," he laughed kindly, kissing her behind her ear. Then he removed strands of hair from her face and smiled:

"You may trust me not to let you down... Come, put your arms around my neck like you used to..."

This time, she did not resist, and did as she was asked.

They both sighed contentedly, and Phoebus started to kiss her face.

"There go my plans to turn Skyhold into a whorehouse..." he murmured as he continued kissing the woman.

She opened her mouth to argue, but the man told her:

"Yes, I remember your freedom speech. No commitments – personal space – blah-blah-blah... And this jerkin of yours refuses to let me in..."

"That's because I need it on, and not off me."

"Ice Queen."

"I would've been an Ice Queen, if I weren't so cold. I'm not used to this climate."

Phoebus sighed and loosened his grasp.

"I get it. No sweets for now."

Akasha smiled at him gently and stroked his cheek.

"Thank you... For last night... I needed it."

Trevelyan just nodded, acknowledging her gratitude, then turned his head away as if distracted and said playfully:

"I just hope that there is still a possibility of some consolation prize for me..."

Involuntarily, Akasha chuckled.

"As soon as I take a bath..."

He grinned.

"Is it a promise? Yes? No? Eh, back to work..."

He kissed her one last time and stood up.

"No wildness whatsoever..." he started complaining, addressing nobody specifically and pulling on his boots. "Where is that neglect toward circumstances and time, where's passion?"

Akasha grinned mischievously, as she turned over and suggested:

"At the opera house?"

The man snuffled half-angrily like a huge mabari and pretended he wanted to leave.

"That's a low blow!" he said in a plaintiff voice. "Where I would find an opera house in the mountains?"

Akasha giggled.

"You bastard!"

She stood up, grabbed the man by the collar and kissed him on the cheek.

"Sorry, no other places before I brush my teeth," she said and started collecting and packing blankets.

Phoebus smiled at her and started helping her pack.

"When will we arrive to the castle?" she asked pulling at the strings of a full sack.

"By the regular estimates, soon after the noon," he answered and added "That is if the weather is fine. Here in the mountains, it may change totally unpredictably within minutes..."

Akasha nodded.

She wanted to add something, but restrained herself and resumed packing.

**-O-**

Before the Skyhold gate, Phoebus caught up with Akasha and said:

"This is it. Here, I practically cease to belong to myself. So please pardon me in advance for not paying you enough attention. I will dispatch someone to help you in any possible way, and you may of course seek me out for any reason. In a couple of days, when the initial madness subsidies, I'll hopefully be more free to introduce you to this place... Unless... If you change your mind and decide to come live in my quarters, I'll be more than happy to see you sooner... Anyway, here is my Trevelyan ring, it will grant you free access everywhere."

Then he gave her the ring, kissed in the cheek and spurred his stallion.

Skyhold greeted them excitedly, people came running from everywhere, they were expecting news, exotic goods, and were eager to share their stories.

They scrutinized new faces and meticulously studied each cart, sack or cargo pony.

Akasha chose a room in the tavern far from the main hall so that the evening hubbub would not disturb her. There was a nice large compass window with seats and plenty of dusty pillows, a bookshelf filled with an odd collection of miscellaneous scrolls, a secretary table with doors that wouldn't close, and a hard wooden bed with a straw mattress.

The new tenant was promised bed linen and a blanket, and was left alone for good.

She observed the tall black silhouette of the Inquisitor strolling busily outside toward a staircase, harassed by a crowd of people who all wanted something from him.

A few workmen were busy trying to unload several large barrels from a cart. A burly dwarf was yelling at them.

A number of soldiers were training on dummies just in front of Akasha's window, and it made her question her decision to accept this room, but then she thought that it would be improbable that someone would train here after sunset.

But the corner of the courtyard behind the tavern windows proved to be rather busy: there was an infirmary nearby, a quartermaster's office, a smithery and what seemed like an entrance to a prison to boot.

Akasha sighed and decided to take a tour of the castle in search of a more suitable place to live.

So she closed the door to her temporary abode and descended the stairs to the main hall.

The Iron Bull greeted her with a large crooked smile. The red-haired dwarf that was sitting beside him, turned his head. Akasha recalled that both were from what Phoebus had called a "boys' club".

The swarthy mage was nowhere to be seen.

Akasha did not go to chat with the Inquisitor's acolytes, but instead went outside to explore the surroundings.

A few hours later she realized the degree of neglect and disuse that this great site had fallen into. The required repairs would amount to huge sums of gold, even if all works would be done exclusively by volunteers.

As to a suitable domicile, all the best hideaways had been already taken, and the tavern room looked so far as one of the best options.

But suddenly, out of the blue, a young man in a very large hat materialized before her and pointed to a corner tower.

"A cozy place, a quiet one, the best preserved, and warm inside. The fairest view and close enough, to drink your tea and sleep in calm..."

Akasha looked at him and smiled. Oddly enough, she wasn't startled or frightened of his presence, but instead she replied in a warm tone:

"A friend is welcome and is blessed, for foreign land is in its best."

They nodded to each other, and the woman went to the tavern to take her belongings.

But there, she was accosted by the same soldier who had come to her house in Val Royeaux to summon her.

"A note from his Worship," he explained, giving her a folded and sealed piece of paper, and stood there waiting.

Akasha sighed, took the note, broke the seal with the Inquisition eye on it and read: " _Please tell the messenger where you stay and order him to provide you with anything you need. I'll find you as soon as my bloodsuckers let me out of the council hall. Busy Busy Busy! XOXOXO_ "

The woman thought it over, then nodded to the soldier.

"Let's go with me, I'll inspect my new room and will tell you what is needed."

The soldier saluted her and readily followed her.

The tower room proved indeed to be remarkably well preserved and cozy. It had glass windows in the eastern, southern, and western walls, a ladder leading to the study and higher, to the miraculously intact roof, and a very narrow staircase under a trapdoor leading to a castle latrine. A luxurious antique four-poster bed needed a mattress, a pillow, bed linen and blankets. A large fireplace in the northern wall had to be checked for functionality, but otherwise looked promising.

Akasha found a piece of paper and took an old coal from the fireplace and started scribbling a list of bed linens, firewood, a broom and a bucket of water.

Then she gave it to the soldier and said:

"I will need this tonight... What is your name?"

"It's Rick, ma'am."

"Rick, please hurry, because I want to sleep very much."

Left alone, she made another inspection of the place and found it already ridden of dust and dirt, as if it was washed clean just before her entry.

So she smiled and said out loud:

"I thank you, friend, but don't be shy. Come talk to me when you don't mind."

She saw no one at this time but felt sure that her words were heard.

Soon, the soldier returned with an aid and brought good bed accessories and a large basket of dry wood along with some small twigs, rags, a flint and steel.

Moreover, he went to the roof, and soon the noise in the fireplace resulted in a cloud of debris and a dead bird falling from inside the chimney. The aid finished cleaning the fireplace when Rick came in and set to kindle fire.

Amused by such uncharacteristically enthusiastic help from soldiers, Akasha said:

"Thank you for your help, Rick. I appreciate your thoughtfulness."

Rick and the other guy built a sturdy fire in the fireplace, bowed to her and left her alone.

Turned out they brought not only what was required of them but also a supper in a small wicker basket.

The woman smiled, even more surprised, made her bed and went to sleep.

**-O-**

It was late night, and the whole citadel was deep in dreams, when the Inquisitor left the Council room. Too late to pay any visits. The Great Hall was silent and empty, just a few mabaris were squealing and wriggling paws in their sleep.

Phoebus looked around and sighed in relief. This was the only time of the day when he was left to his own devices, no tumult or noise around.

A single light gleamed invitingly in one of the library's windows, and the Inquisitor went there, attracted by the lone flame.

The swarthy Tevinterian mage was sitting on the floor of the library, deeply in the huge volume in front of him.

"Burning the midnight oil?" asked the Inquisitor, strolling among scrolls and books strewn around.

The swarthy mage nearly jumped in surprise.

"You and your catlike crawl! Didn't your parents teach you to knock upon entry?!"

Phoebus shrugged his massive shoulders and went straight to the water pipe he'd spotted near the window.

"Knock on what? Your head?"

Dorian sent a bolt of feeble electricity into the Inquisitor's rear.

"Ouch!" exclaimed the latter without enthusiasm and set to examine the pipe.

The mage stood up.

"So. What brought you here?" he asked, frowning.

Phoebus shrugged his shoulders again and replied:

"This pipe, I take it. Why so sour?"

Dorian said glumly:

"You're infringing on my privacy."

The Inquisitor gave him a sideward glance before resuming his tinkering.

"Library is a public place, you know."

The mage observed for a few minutes how the Inquisitor's nimble fingers unscrewed tiny parts of the old pipe, how he cleaned it, fixed it and put everything back together…

The Tevinterian sighed:

"You've got good hands. It is as if your fingers are clever enough to have a mind of their own."

Phoebus laughed, not taking his eyes off the contraption in his hands, and said nothing.

But after a while, he asked:

"So, is it a habit of yours to read books this late?"

Dorian answered in an echo:

"Is it a habit of yours to tinker with water pipes at 3 in the morning?"

Phoebus gleamed.

"Uh-huh! But we could smoke it together afterwards, if you want…"

Dorian shook his head, the Inquisitor's charisma starting to get to him again.

With a trace of irritation, the mage said:

"You wanted to know why I was up so late? Here it is: I was hoping to read myself to sleep because when I lay in bed with my eyes closed, I cannot shake off that image from the Orlesian opera house you put into my head!"

Phoebus raised a brow, the water pipe finally starting to take shape.

"An image…?"

Dorian burst in sudden anger:

"See? That's what you're all about: you say something, just babble out something carelessly, then you forget all about it, and it stays in other people's heads! Intolerable!"

The crease in the Inquisitor's brow smoothed out.

"Ah, you're talking about that instance with my ass? Forget it, Dorian. Just let it go."

The mage was beyond himself.

"But how can I let it go if you are here, living and breathing, so bright and smiling, oh, smiling so…"

The mage threw himself at Phoebus and started avidly kissing his lips.

The Inquisitor let the mage release his initial passion, but then gently pulled away from the man's grasp and cleared his throat.

"Let's smoke that pipe, shall we?" he said quietly and very calmly, and eased away from the dazed Dorian.

He behaved as if nothing had happened, giving the Tevinterian a chance to save his face.

The mage made a tremendous effort to get a grip on his feelings, got up, gathered a few big pillows and made a cozy nest out of them. Then he went to his room, brought a few coals, a pitcher of water and a bit of pipe filling.

Averting his eyes, the mage gave all items to the Inquisitor and stood nearby, unsure of what to do next.

Phoebus poured some water from the pitcher, filled the pipe, put the coals on top and flicked his fingers. The coals turned bright red.

Dorian observed him carefully, as the Inquisitor's gesture not only did heat the coals, but also sparkled the mage's interest. But the latter said nothing at this time, having made a mental note to ask the man later.

Phoebus made a few puffs from the mouthpiece and sat on the pillows.

"I'm not the one to judge," he said to the mage, gesturing him to sit down beside him and offering him the pipe. "I just don't want you to get frustrated."

Dorian settled in the heap of pillows and took the mouthpiece from the Inquisitor.

He was feeling the man's lucid clear gaze on him, but couldn’t bring himself to look the Inquisitor in the eyes yet. Made a few puffs and laid back.

Phoebus also laid back, staring into the darkness outside the window. He was utterly calm, and his peaceful attitude soothed the flustered mage.

As time passed, the two men were just smoking the water pipe and staring into the void.

"There is something I don't understand," said Dorian, slowly articulating words, at last aiming at satisfying his curiosity.

Phoebus nodded, allowing the question, and the mage resumed:

"So, tell me… How is it you do magic without any staff, or wand, or any other concentrator?"

The Inquisitor gave out a short laugh.

"My mind is the best concentrator I'll ever need. I just never wanted to depend on something external, anything that could be taken away."

"And what about the Harrowing initiation? Without any safety precautions…? Did you ever meet your adversaries?"

"The demons you mean? They aren't attracted to anyone who doesn’t fear them. I'm not interested in them, they are not interested in me, that's the whole big secret."

Dorian sighed deeply.

"Amazing. Even for Tevinter. Simply outstanding."

Phoebus shrugged his shoulders.

"Sadly, this cannot be transformed in a know-how and given to young people with magic in their blood."

Dorian nodded pensively, paused and dared to ask:

"You aren't condemning me… But have you ever tried to..."

"Have sex with a man?" finished Phoebus for him, taking a drag on the pipe. "Why, yes, I did. As a teenager, I've thoroughly explored what I could do with my body and where I could stick my dick into. Turned out there were things I didn't like, and actions that could not get my dick up, which was really amazing, I tell you, considering that my cock hardly ever went to sleep at that certain age."

Dorian paused before asking again, for this was a unique opportunity to talk about such delicate issue with the object of his desire, and he didn’t want to blow it.

Then he asked carefully, but insinuatingly:

"Maybe they were the wrong people?"

Phoebus rolled his eyes.

"I understand where this is going. And I must warn you that the best end result would be just spoilt relationships. I can even tell you how it will go. First, I'm self-assured and crazy enough to let you play with my genitals. Try hard as you might, you'll fail to get my cock up or get any other positive response from my body. Then you'll have this wild idea that a different approach might help and you'll become more insistent, and at this point I'll start to get irritated. Then I'll snap and tell you that the game is over. And you will be left with a broken heart. Or broken something. Sounds familiar?"

The mage listened to the Inquisitor with his face turned away and his heart pounding.

And still he wanted to get everything clear, to leave no doubts:

"But you said you didn't know who was licking your behind and still liked it."

Phoebus sighed, got up from the pillows, patted the mage on his shoulder and said:

"And at the same time, I was being kissed all over by a bunch of very pretty ladies. Now it's real late, I have to go get some rest before morning. Take care, and thanks for the company."

He was about to leave when Dorian asked in a quaky voice:

"May we remain friends at least?"

The Inquisitor smiled grandly and said kindly:

"Sure. We are friends. Good night, Dorian."

**-O-**

He made sure that he crept into Akasha's room absolutely soundlessly, never disturbing even the slightest speck of dust on the floor.

She was sleeping under a thick blanket, having put it very tightly around her body. Obviously, the dying fire did not produce enough heat to warm the place properly.

Phoebus made a lazy gesture with his hand, and the coals grew in size and brightness by about ten times. The temperature in the room rose noticeably.

The man slid behind Akasha, lowered himself onto the bed, taking great care as not to disturb the woman's sleep, and finally closed his eyes.

**-O-**

FADE

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Failure. Need some material anchor for the boy.

**-O-**

The tunnel was cleared wide enough for men to be able to squeeze through, but the Qunari, with his wide horns and massive frame did not fit in the passage. Consequently, his string of expletives could probably be heard as far as the Deep Roads.

The grey giant fumed for another hour before finally surrendering to the necessity of returning back to Skyhold. A group of Inquisition guards was posted outside the entrance, and the Iron Bull was feeling in their presence obsolete and bulky, which did nothing to lift his humor.

So, having returned to the citadel, he went straight to the tavern and ordered himself a bucket of Maraas-Lok.

The new arrival to the castle, the pretty Orlesian woman was just descending the stairs with a scroll in her hand that she had borrowed from the first-floor room, as the Qunari swore in Qunlat:

"Defransdim Basra Vashedan!"

The woman ignored him at first but then stopped and glanced back at him.

The Qunari was so upset he didn’t care who was around or his effect on people.

She cocked her head curiously to the side and took a few steps toward the angry giant.

"What's happened?" she asked simply, looking at the horned man with sincere interest.

After another string of colorful expletives in Qunlat, the Iron Bull managed to tell her about the tunnel and the fact that he did not fit in.

"Wait, what tunnel?" asked the woman, her eyes suddenly widening with worry.

The Qunari explained:

"The one to the north-east of Crestwood, in the barrow hills…"

The woman nearly jumped.

"The barrow hills?!"

She darted to the door, then turned to him, cried: "Don’t go anywhere!" and ran out.

Her agitation transferred to the Iron Bull, so he jumped to his feet, the bucket of moonshine suddenly forgotten, and started pacing the floor, unsure if he should follow the crazy chick or just do as he was told and wait for her in the tavern.

But no later than in fifteen minutes, the woman returned.

It was hard to recognize her, as she was dressed in a dark red leather overall armor, bearing two gladii and a bone bow with a quiver full of arrows on her back, and a decisive glint in her eyes suggested that she wouldn’t take a "no" for an answer.

She threw the Qunari a large heavy hank of cable and said:

"You're going with me."

They reached the barrows in no time, as fast as the mounts could carry them, and approached the Inquisition post.

"Any developments?" the woman asked in a tone so commanding that no one dared to question her authority.

"Ser, no, ser!" replied a frightened soldier, saluting her.

"Have you seen or heard anything at all coming from the tunnel or in the hills? Anything at all?" she pressed.

The soldier negatively shook his head.

"Ser, no, ser!" he repeated bulging his eyes.

"How long since the expedition went inside?"

"Five hours and thirty-two minutes ago, ser."

She nodded and sighed.

"At ease. Keep your watch."

And then she did a strange thing. She took a knife and, after saying "the time for niceties is over," cut off considerable length of her hair, shaved her temples, then threw the hair into the fire pit that was keeping the soldiers warm, and ordered the Iron Bull:

"Your task here is to keep these boys safe. After the sun sets, be watchful as best you can. Any mist creeping too near the post and you alert that cute young mage over there. Also, I will take the cable with me, leaving an end here near the entrance. Make sure that there is a person near it at all times. If that person feels a tug, start pulling the cable out as fast as you can. Capiche?"

The Iron Bull did not get the last word but the meaning was clear – this woman spoke no bullshit.

He nodded seriously and said:

"Ma'am…"

She interrupted him:

"Akasha will do."

He nodded and started again:

"Akasha, you may trust me in this. I'll send word to my company and they'll transform this hill into a fort in no time."

"Good. Then this post is in your hands now. Thank you, and Maraas toh ebra-shok."

And while the Qunari stood stupefied, the woman pushed one end of the cable into his hand and crawled inside the tunnel opening with the rest of the hank.

It was growing increasingly dark, and Akasha started to move more slowly, carefully picking her path through the debris, saving her light-bulbs and wishing she had the Inquisitor's glowing hand.

But soon, she entered an intact part of the tunnel, where the low glow of deep mushrooms and phosphorescent insects adorning the walls made her path clearer and easier to adapt to.

The underground trails led the woman deeper and deeper inside the bowels of the earth, and at one point she had to stop to fight off a wave of panic.

She sat on the floor, breathed deeply and entered a meditative state, letting her consciousness engulf the huge masses of the earth, their weight and solidity, and finally expanding beyond, letting the heavy masses become waves of sheer dense light and dissipate in clear limitless space.

After a while, Akasha sprang to her feet, feeling strong and fluid at the same time, the power of the earth now running through her veins, her perception acute and clear, feeling lucidly for miles and miles ahead… And it felt wrong. It felt like suffering and pain, and death.

Under normal circumstances, death felt differently – like a part of natural cycle. But here, it was blind and senseless, like people who were bringing it.

She sighed and pressed on, now hurrying more than ever.

Soon she started encountering dwarven corpses and peculiar short bodies with blue lights all over their armor, their upset spirits still lingering beside their bodies. Akasha wished she had some spare time to put them to rest, but hoped she would be able to do so on her way back and ran ahead.

Further ahead, one of the bodies felt warm and the creature's spirit was still inside. It spoke to Akasha in fuzzy thoughts: " _You intruder! Stop! Don't go further! Don't hurt him!_.."

The woman concentrated and thought as clearly as she could, trying to envelop the creature with a feeling of care and support: " _Not an enemy. Did not come to destroy. Came to stop, came to help. Where did they go? Who was with them?_ "

The creature, calmed by the warm cocoon of care, exhaled one last time, relaxing and letting its spirit go, its last thought being: " _Deaf ones of our kin_ …"

Akasha sighed. She grew more and more apprehensive. Something told her this was a bad story…

And she resumed her grim journey toward the bowels of the earth.

Now, after the 'talk' with the creature, it seemed that the earth was opening before her, letting her in, inviting, helping and supporting.

It gradually grew lighter, as the shiny blue veins of lyrium got increasingly denser on her way…

She slept when she felt like it, having completely lost any sense of time, and ate raw mushrooms and small bits of dry biscuits she had brought with her. There was plenty of water, so going thirsty was out of the question.

It felt like she spent there a week, and she was still far behind the surfacers' team.

Sometimes she saw heaps of bodies, and put the spirits to rest if she could do it quickly. If she failed, then she just tried to memorize their location and ran on, further and deeper still.

And at the long last her persistence paid up – she heard a clash of metals and bursts of magical missiles.

She sped up ahead, minding not to get caught in the fight.

She saw the surfacers and a few brawny dwarves fight the same bluish-black creatures. Now that dwarves and the creatures stood side by side, Akasha's initial guess proved to be right.

"Deaf ones of our kin…" she murmured, looking at the dwarves.

The whole group was too deeply entangled in their fight to pay any attention to the woman, so she decided to try out another guess of hers and went to the closest blue lyrium vein. She touched it lightly with the tip of her finger and thought loudly: " _I need a distraction. Drop that big stalactite near those fighting. Just don't kill them_."

For a moment, it seemed that nothing would happen, but then – and it looked like in a dream – she saw a huge stalactite vibrate and crash in a cloud of debris on the floor near the fighters.

Both sides froze for a second, and Akasha used it to cry at the top of her lungs: "Stop fighting! Lower your weapons, all of you!" and she gestured menacingly toward the blue vein, threatening to touch it again.

Seeing her move, the blue-black creatures instantly stepped back, and their adversaries turned their heads cautiously, fearing a ruse.

"I am Akasha Cousland, and I am here to stop the fight and to resolve your dispute. May I approach you?" she said clearly and loudly, in a resonant voice.

The Inquisitor's lips curved into a crooked smile.

He whispered under his breath:

"I knew you weren't that simple," and ordered his men loudly, "Stay back but don't lose your guard."

Then he cried to the woman:

"You may approach."

Akasha palpated the dense atmosphere with her senses and moved carefully from the lyrium, ever ready to spring back and give another command.

Cautiously, she neared the gap between the two parties, the palms of her hands outward, showing that they were empty.

Slowly, she turned to the blue-black warriors and thought intensely: " _Came to help – you – explain – them – about your – mission. Help them stop the hurt_."

The creatures did not lower their weapons, but became significantly calmer.

"What's she doing?" murmured Dorian, creeping closer to the Inquisitor.

The latter smiled, never taking his fascinated stare from the woman, his clear eyes glowing with strong interest and curiosity.

"She's a sensory, don't you see? She speaks to them, and they understand her."

"Amazing…" mumbled the mage, spellbound by the scene.

The Inquisitor's group started to breathlessly follow the woman's every move, watching her stand between them.

At last she spoke aloud:

"You came here to hurt the One.. Our deaf kindred steal his blood… Get out or we will kill you whatever it takes…"

"'Deaf kindred' meaning dwarves?" asked Varric, frowning. "Why do you call us deaf?"

She spoke again, her eyes half-closed:

"You are like us, but you don't hear his breath… his thoughts… you do not feel his life streaming in his veins… You are deaf to our thoughts…"

A dwarf with a long red beard stepped ahead and asked loudly, with challenge in his voice:

"Who is 'he' that you are talking about?"

Akasha stood still then trembled and almost whispered:

"We are inside him…"

A tumultuous discussion erupted among dwarves:

"Impossible, those are just legends!"

"It cannot be!"

"Your mind is poisoned by lyrium!"

Dorian touched Varric's shoulder and asked him:

"What legends?"

His fellow was very much lost in thought when he answered:

"All dwarves know children's tales saying that Titans once lived deeper than the Deep Roads, and that they were so huge that one could walk inside them and never know it. That Titans were sacred to an ancient dwarven order that pledged their allegiance to those Titans and that they cut off their tongues in order not to tell anyone the location of their sacred creatures… And now it turns out to be true!"

Dorian shook his head.

"I wonder if the part about their tongues is true too…"

In a while, the arguments subsided, and the same red-bearded dwarf asked Akasha arrogantly:

"So, are we to believe that we are inside some ancient creature now?"

The woman half-closed her eyes again and said in a raucous voice:

"You are mining his veins for lyrium to sell it and get fat!"

The dwarves broke out again in chaotic exclamations, but she spoke again, her voice now clear, as she spoke for herself:

"I'm sure there is a way to negotiate places where you can dig for lyrium as long as you keep to the agreement. They will not harm you, if you do not threaten this Titan of theirs. I'm sure such a creature must be important not only to them, but to you as well, Children of the Stone."

Another dwarf grunted:

"How can we negotiate if we can't hear them?"

Akasha blinked, then, maybe after hearing a thought, told him:

"They can write and you can read."

Dwarves were a stout lot and were not inclined to take such decisions lightly.

"How can we trust these savages?!" they yelled.

The woman allowed herself to smile.

"And they are calling you savages. Clearly, you are of the same kin…"

In a few hours of constant bickering, the two groups started approaching some kind of mutual understanding.

The last issue was the dwarves' desire to see the Titan with their own eyes, and the defenders' distrust of their relatives.

The Inquisitor, bored out of his mind by this time, offered:

"Let's send a small unarmed group with the Sha-Brytol and let them show us the so-called heart of this Titan. I, for one, am willing to take the risk if it will stop the squabble."

Another half-hour later the Revered Defenders agreed to take with them Akasha, the Inquisitor, Varric and the two senior dwarves with them, completely unarmed.

Varric started protesting again, but Phoebus shut him up with a quick display of his glowing hand.

"I don't need arms to be dangerous," he said with a small self-ironic laugh.

Akasha told him at once:

"The Revered Defenders not only can hear you, but they can also understand the meaning of your thoughts. You are lucky to have no real intention of harming them or the Titan."

Phoebus shrugged his shoulders and said:

"I'm just curious…"

The woman nodded.

"Of all people present here, your intentions are most harmless. C'mon, let's go."

In an hour or so of dull walking, Phoebus sighed and asked Akasha:

"So. If you can hear them talking in your head, does it mean you can hear my thoughts as well?"

She giggled.

"What's there to hear? To listen to your tiny brain roll inside your skull to the applause of your ears?"

Phoebus laughed.

"Ouch! And all this time you were just toying with me?"

She shook her head.

"Well… Turns out I can switch my abilities off and on, as needed. In Val Royeaux I would go mad if I were to hear all the gibberish that's inside people's heads."

"And can you hear me now?"

"Oh, you and your thoughts! They make no mystery to anyone even without any abilities."

"That bad, huh?"

"Stop it, the Defenders can hear you too."

Phoebus sighed.

"I'm a shameless pig, I know."

"That you are, messere Trevelyan."

"I missed you, you know."

Akasha sighed.

"You are tired and bored, and curious. But mostly tired. So stop this nonsense."

"You can't feel my longing?"

She didn't reply, and Phoebus said in a very different, more profound voice:

"Go deeper, I allow you to."

The woman sighed again. After a long pause she said:

"I don't need to."

Phoebus glanced at her sideways, probing. And asked in a tiny whisper:

"So, what about your loving husband, your Majesty? Care to tell me, Hero of Ferelden?"

The woman frowned.

"Don't start."

"Why?"

She shook her head vigorously.

"Just… Don't."

He nodded, accepting it – to her sheer surprise.

At a halt, the Inquisitor sat by a wall near the woman and started kissing her tenderly in the face.

"I go crazy around you," he whispered into her ear.

She laughed feebly and shook her head.

"No you don't…"

"You're telling me you know better than me?"

"I'm telling that you exaggerate a bit. You just like me… a lot…"

The man kissed her once more in the corner of her lips, stroked gently her shaven temple, studying it with his nimble fingers and sighed.

"Good that you like me too."

The woman put her arms around his neck and looked him in the eyes.

The stare was long but comfortable for them both.

She was evaluating him, balancing between caution and the desire to trust him, to give in.

At last she asked:

"What, my body is not enough for you?"

A playful glint danced in his eyes when he stroked her from the nape of her neck all the way down to her buttocks and felt her shiver involuntarily.

"Little liar," he whispered, kissing her sweetly on the mouth. "I don't care for your secrets. Me too, I can feel what's important to me…"

Akasha's heart leapt, for in all these years without Zevran the hardest was not being able to share her perceptions with anybody…

She caressed the man's cheek and asked him:

"If you are so sweet, then why do you have the reputation of a volatile playboy in Val Royeaux? How do you even break up with girls?"

He laughed.

"What can I say? I bring out the best in people, and they leave me as fast as they can…"

They both giggled when Varric came to them.

"Hey, lovebirds, time to move."

They were not prepared for the sight they met.

After weeks of drafty caverns with their eternal dark and lurking shadows, a vast luminous space of greens and normal animals was almost too good to be true.

The lavish jungle with islands floating in the air among birds and butterflies was a breathtaking splendor to behold.

Both surfacers and Children of the Stone were speechless, trying to intake as much beauty of this lost world as they could. They were even walking on tiptoes, afraid of making any disturbing sound.

They crossed amazing waterfalls with the source somewhere in the dense greenery of a floating isle, its waters falling far beyond the reach of their sight into the vastness of the abyss before them.

Akasha sighed.

"I wish I could fly," she sighed.

And as soon as she spoke it, she felt her body lifting in the air.

She caught a few thoughts of the Sha-Brytol before she flew away: " _Impossible_!" " _He listens to her_!"

The warm air carried her gently but swiftly through the most beautiful sceneries she had ever seen, as if the Titan was making her a tour of his domain.

She laughed and whispered:

"I thank you from the bottom of my heart!"

And the air carried her farther still, to something amazing, blue, glowing, pulsating, alive…

"Your heart!" she whispered in amazement trying to contain her excitement.

The stony structure around the gigantic heart opened, letting her in, the heart opened before her as a flower with delicate petals, and she entered the intensely bright light at its core, merging with it completely.

Her consciousness awoke in the light to say: " _I did not know how much I missed you_."

And " _I am with you. Always_."

Then she said: "Show them like you showed me."

Then she said: "No, don't do that. After your light fades from their hearts, they will start to crave it. Show only to those who will understand."

A bright star neared the Titan's heart and entered it easily, like it belonged there.

"Why am I not surprised?" she laughed to the star.

It responded: "Why not?"

And they both laughed.

After a long while, Akasha and Phoebus emerged from the blazing heart of the Titan, looked at each other, and the woman said aloud:

"Show them enough to believe."

The dwarves nearly lost their footing, when they saw a huge face smiling at them, made up from the water streams, clouds and butterflies. The face then opened its mouth, and spoke in the sounds of falling gravel, creaking trees and chirping birds: "WELCOME TO ME. BE MY GUESTS."

Varric stood there, his jaw dropped, staring at the face.

It laughed, sprinkling water all around, and added: "DON'T BE SHY, LOOK AROUND!"

And people stood in amazement, contemplating birds swarming in regular patterns.

As their first shock passed, they decided to move a bit forward to see all the wonders of this living space.

In a few hours they felt tired from all the incredible wonders of the day, and set to rest on a soft carpet of moss near a picturesque grove intermingled with rose-ish boulders of red granite.

Varric looked around.

"Still no sign of the Inquisitor and his girlfriend. I wonder where they'd gone…"

But in a few minutes the couple appeared from the grove and went straight to the camp site.

"Sorry for all the worry," said Phoebus nonchalantly, putting his arm around Akasha's shoulders. "Affairs of the state, you know," he winked to Varric and kissed the woman's temple.

His friend rolled his eyes, and then asked:

"So, how was the flying?"

"Oh, you know, a very nice sightseeing tour… Quite marvelous, really. This place is very beautiful…"

Then he made a show of settling near the fireplace, fussed a bit, then said, taking the woman's hand:

"You know what, Varric, just blow the horn when you decide to leave this creature-place – I've got some unfinished business here…"

He winked again and pulled the woman back into the grove.

The dwarves just shook their heads and set to prepare dinner, trying to communicate with their now much more friendly kindred.

And very high above them, on a mountaintop, seen by no one, two slightly glowing bluish figures watched the whole scene from above.

As soon as the ghostly couple entered the grove, the apparitions dissipated, and the two bluish figures smiled to each other.

Then they stood up and took off from the rock, and flew like two fireflies in the night blue sky.

Having made sure there were no deposits of anything valuable in the wondrous living world, the dwarves easily agreed with the Sha-Brytol on the locations of allowed lyrium mining with the added bonus of acquiring plans of new undeveloped veins and set on their way back home, happy and elated.

Varric blew the horn, as agreed, and was very surprised two minutes later to see the couple standing far ahead of them near the exit to the underworld.

The surface dwarf scratched his head, and, when approaching them closer, said:

"And there I thought it would take another rescue mission to find you…"

Phoebus grinned and shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, you know, with that sped-up sightseeing, we decided to just wait for you here…"

They both appeared normal, blooming, actually, but there was something more to them than before… they appeared more solid, more strong, even radiant…

Varric shook his head.

"What love does to people," he murmured under his nose and went on climbing the steep hill road.

Near the entrance to the tunnel that lead to the surface, Akasha stopped.

"You go ahead, and I will remain here for some time… To clean up a bit…"

The surfacers frowned, uncomprehending, only the Inquisitor nodded, suddenly very grave.

"Just make sure that someone stays near the rope," she asked him and waved them all goodbye.

The adventurers weren't ready for what they saw: the entrance to the tunnel was equipped like a barricade, literally plastered over with magical wards and traps, a whole garrison of the Inquisition soldiers and the Iron Bull's full company were stationed behind the palisade, their faces drawn and tense.

The Inquisitor frowned and squinted in the intense light of the setting sun, and asked the first soldier he met:

"What's happened here?"

But then he saw the Iron Bull hurrying towards them and dismissed the soldier.

"Bull! Long time no see! What's this all about?!"

The grey giant shook his horned head.

"Bad things happening here! Apparently we've disturbed the occupants of the barrows, and now each night we have to fight off revenants from all around us… Tough lot, they are! If not for that lady-friend of yours, this outpost wouldn't've last a single night. I'd like to thank her for the warning!... Hey, and where's she, isn't she with you guys?... Where's Akasha?"

Dorian, Varric and Blackwall shamefully hid their eyes from the searching Qunari, and the Inquisitor explained uneasily:

"She asked to remain behind… To clean up, as she said…"

The Iron Bull goggled at them with his single eye.

"Are you out of your mind?! Why didn't you remain with her to help her with whatever 'cleaning' she had in mind?! I would've never…"

Phoebus stared at him coldly and reminded the Qunari:

"You left your guys on that mountain at the Sword Coast. The fact that they lived is a miracle and it's none of your doing. The reason why they are still loyal to you is a big mystery to me…"

The giant flashed in anger and growled:

"They knew the risks and they were prepared to beat the odds. And this battle taught me plenty! I would never let down my people again! Not to mention the person who practically saved us!..."

Phoebus snapped and repeated almost word to word Bull's words:

"She knows the risks better than any of us, and she is prepared to beat the odds. I trust her, as you've trusted your men. So now stop being a clocking hen and tell us how we might help. I will stay by the rope here, as she requested."

The Iron Bull briskly nodded and started explaining the tactics.

As the night fell, and the stars were progressing on their orbits, the outlines of the surrounding hills grew fuzzy with a dense fog that started forming in depressions.

A few ghostly lights flickered in the distance, and invisible barghersts started howling far away.

It began without any warning.

Suddenly, people saw long clawed hands protruding from all walls and solid fence surfaces…

The mages started spewing spells, and warriors ran to chop those demonic hands off.

Both frightened and curious, the Inquisitor cautiously approached one of the hands. It's presence so unnatural in this world that it nauseated him. His brow covered in sweat and his breathing grew labored.

But he still tried to interact with it. First, he sent a feeble jolt of electricity, but it passed through the hand. Then he enveloped it with frost. With the same result. And then he sent a small ball of fire.

Something screamed and grasped in the air trying to touch the fire. It lengthened to the shoulder in search of the fire, but as the Inquisitor stood there watching it with mixed horror and interest, he was pushed aside by a young mage, who formulated a banishing spell and hit it square into the grasping arm.

"Don't stand watching!" he cried out and ran to another spot to aid his colleagues.

Phoebus caught his breath, for he realized that his hair was standing on end.

A horrible roar signaled the men that a few revenants were caught in the magic traps, and the fight groups reformed to repel the new danger.

The atmosphere grew thick with unnatural chill and clammy horridness as the barrow inhabitants started assaulting the fort.

Minutes grew into hours and hours stretched to unbearable eternity.

Soldiers were praying for the sun to finally come up, Bull's chargers groaned with each new wave, with each new blow, Blackwall, Varric and Dorian fended the assailants off with grim determination and growing panic in their eyes. As for the Inquisitor… well, he was post-terror, post-tiredness, post-self-pity, he was a numb killing machine with no thoughts or emotions, chopping, burning, and crushing.

But suddenly, he felt a tug to his belt. At first, he did not understand what it was, assuming that it was some invisible foe.

But then he realized that it was THE rope, the same rope that he had tied to his belt, and which went all the way down to the tunnel.

At first, he doubted that he should pull at it, reasoning that it might be safer down there than out here, but an insistent second tug suggested it could be completely the opposite.

So the Inquisitor started to pull at the cable, and soon enough he heard exclamations of surprise coming from all sides, and he realized that as long as he was pulling the rope, the foes were being drawn to the tunnel entrance.

After a few seconds of total bewilderment, many people saw the connection of Phoebus pulling the cable and the revenants being drawn away from them and into the same tunnel.

So everyone able to stand on their feet ran to the Inquisitor and started helping him.

The rope came out faster and faster, and the howling horrors were drawn farther and farther.

Soon, all of them disappeared in the opening, and the cable became a bit lighter.

Then a rumble from the very bottom of the tunnel indicated a new collapse of its ceiling, and people grew apprehensive at what they might soon see at the other end of the rope.

But the Inquisitor yelled "Faster!" in such a commanding tone, that soldiers doubled their efforts.

Now they all had a feeling that they were competing for speed with the collapsing tunnel.

The rumble grew louder by the second, and, at long last, a curled up figure on a wooden shield flew out of the entrance in the clouds of dust from the imploding tunnel mouth.

At the same moment, this cloud of dust became highlighted by the first touch of the morning sun.

The Inquisitor and all others ran to the curled up figure and saw to his immense relief that she was alive.

Bruised, beaten but alive.

Phoebus dropped to his knees and tried to speak, but only a dry croak escaped his lips.

He barked a few orders to his men, cleared his throat and tried to speak softly once more, gently touching the woman's head caked with a mixture of blood and dust:

"Anything broken?"

She whispered barely audibly, never opening her dusted eyes:

"Dunno. Shoulder… probably dislocated… hit on a boulder…"

The Inquisitor began carefully palpating her whole body, then trying to unclench her stiff limbs, then infinitely delicately lifted her, carried inside the fort and put her on a cot.

A soldier was already standing with a basin of warm water and waiting for other orders. Another one was standing with a clean sheet and some clothes, and one other was carrying medical supplies.

First of all, Phoebus cleaned his charge as well as he could, then he made sure that the worst wound was on her forearm, with which she had shielded her head, then asked her gently:

"Are you up for fixing your shoulder?"

She nodded.

The Inquisitor took a piece of cloth from one of the soldiers, wrapped it around the grip of his dagger and gave it to her to bite on.

When she bit on it, he said:

"On three… One…"

And pulled on the arm.

Akasha yelled at the top of her lungs and jumped upright, tears in her eyes.

She spat out the dagger and cried out:

"You said on three!"

"I lied," sighed Phoebus, setting the arm and resuming the grooming procedure.

Now he removed her armor, washed her thoroughly, dressed her wounds, then put fresh clothes on her and tied her strained shoulder to her torso.

"Now go to sleep," he told her as he covered her with a warm blanket.

But before he left, she asked him:

"Casualties?"

"Three people. If not for you, there'd be ten times more."

"Tunnel?"

"Collapsed and sealed for good."

"Good," she echoed, already sleeping.

Phoebus examined the shield that carried the woman to the surface. It was skived to the core and of no any further use. But the solid iron frame still held it together, and the Inquisitor pored over it until he found the master's brand – a curious little animal with round head, on four paws and with a long tail.

The man took a piece of paper from a Skyhold report and a piece of coal (gladly, soot was aplenty everywhere), and rubbed the coal on the paper pressed against the seal.

Afterwards, he hid the paper in his pocket, untied the rope from it and started thoughtfully coiling the cable back into a hank.

As he was rolling the rope, his imagination showed him how the shield went up, with the woman curled up on it, holding for dear life, how the shield was going slow at first, in tugs, as he was the only man pulling at it; then it went faster and faster, picking up speed, and its each hit on a rock grew harder and harder… it must have hit jutting stones at least a few hundred times, only its speed preventing it from crashing all over the passage… but then, judging by the state of the rider's boots, she must've corrected its course, and at least once it rolled upside down, judging by her bruises…

But at some point, that merry company of undead and ghosts must've passed her… Here, Phoebus's imagination failed to guess how this encounter passed…

By the time the rope was coiled into a tight neat hank, the Inquisitor more or less understood what Akasha had to go through to reach the surface.

He just could not understand the reason for such a dangerous method but he guessed the woman knew what she was doing.

So, he took a tour of the fort, made sure everything and everyone was all right, and went to the temporary infirmary.

There, he took a blanket, put it on the floor beside the woman's cot, checked on her once more and went to sleep.

]

"Why didn't you tie yourself to the shield? You could have slipped off it…"

"There was a possibility that I would need to remain inside…"

"For what?!"

"To seal the passage manually and prevent the undead going back to you."

"But it would have sealed you as well!"

"Not necessarily."

"But probably."

"It's useless to argue now."

"All right. Another question. How did they pass you?"

"Swiftly."

"That's not what I meant."

"That's the only answer you'll get."

The whole crew was sitting in the Skyhold tavern, and Phoebus was bombarding Akasha with questions.

Now he took a break and sipped from his mug.

The Iron Bull took his place and cleared his throat.

"Dear Akasha, when you promised us to answer all our questions, we were hoping to get more… detailed answers…"

The woman sighed, her shoulder still firmly affixed to her torso.

"Vaash-ta, Maas!" (Get lost, respected one!)

"And you never told me how you learned Qunlat," stirred the Qunari, very eager to know the answer.

Akasha smiled at him and took her cup.

"I knew a Sten, and an Arishok once. We talked about philosophy, culture, warfare and religion. When I learned that some notions in Qunlat had no translation to other languages, I asked the Arishok to teach Qunlat to me. Which he gladly did."

The lone eye of the Bull nearly popped out in amazement.

"I… am speechless…" he blurted out at last. "My respect for you, Maas – shera, grows with each passing minute. Consider me your humble servant, Gishvar-A!"

Akasha laughed lightly and shook her head.

"I don't need servants, Mef-dir, I need friends."

The grey giant eagerly nodded.

"Of course, of course! Any your wish is my command!"

The woman laughed, stood up and kissed him on the cheek.

Varric's attentive eyes darted to the Inquisitor, but the latter was smiling, unperturbed.

Being the only witness of the Inquisitor's true attitude toward Akasha, the dwarf decided it would be wise to keep it that way.

Soon, the Inquisitor's advisors came in full body, and, being unaware of all the crew's adventures, habitually shifted the focus of all people present to the Herald of Andraste and his heroic deeds.

But as soon as the Iron Bull started protesting the injustice, he got a kick in the knee from Akasha. She was relieved that the focus had shifted from her and wanted it to remain that way.

Josephine offered a game of Wicked Grace, and soon the tavern became so lively, that nobody could sleep in a half-mile radius.

People exchanged jokes, told hilarious stories and had extremely good time, when Josie, a bit intoxicated with all the fun, forgot herself and addressed the Inquisitor very intimately:

"Oh, my love, you never told me that before!"

Always so attentive to the atmosphere and other people, this time she truly relaxed and lowered her guard, for she did not even realize that several people caught their breaths and looked at the Inquisitor.

Varric was so embarrassed he simply froze, trying to keep both Akasha and Phoebus within his field of vision.

Cassandra and Cullen were intrigued, Leliana bit her lip until she drew blood, a few mages started gossiping in whispers to each other, Dorian and Bull exchanged meaningful glances, Blackwall and Cole looked perplexed, as did the drunken Sera.

Akasha's stare was displaying just playful curiosity, and the Inquisitor, after a momentary glance into her eyes, put a card in front of his ambassador, his face muscles slightly wooden.

He said lightly:

"Oh, my luv, and what would you say to this?"

Josephine, at hearing how he addressed her, instantly snapped out of her dazed state, lowered her eyes to see the card, and then looked the surrounding people in the eyes full of curiosity and stir.

"Oh my goodness…" she tried to quickly devise the most elegant exit from this situation, but it was the Inquisitor who offered it:

"All right, my dear friends. As my lovely Josephine have justly reminded me, it would be unfair to require ladies to dress down to their panties. So my suggestion is this: if a lady loses her turn, she kisses the dealer, whoever he or she is at that time. Is that fair?"

The present company hummed in agreement, cheerfully clanking their tankards and drinking to the new rule.

By the end of the night all present were kissed several times over and were happy as nugs.

The following most exciting idea was to let the guys, who were already down to their knickers, to kiss the dealer instead of removing the last bastion of dignity.

And it resulted in some very odd combinations, like when Dorian kissed Akasha on the mouth. And it was a full kiss, not just a peck. And the woman responded him gladly. Such a delightful scandal, as Orlesians would have said.

"Wow, go easy on our lady!" hooted the Bull, grinning luridly from behind the mage's shoulder so as not to miss a thing.

The gang leered and jeered, and all were fixing the two with burning eyes.

"Mmmm, how interesting… You are delicious," murmured the Tevinterian mage with a tinge of surprise in his voice, looking the woman in the face.

"I believe you," smiled Akasha and slipped her arm off his shoulder.

Dorian returned to his seat a bit thoughtful.

And the game raged on, its rules becoming increasingly crazy.

Having caught a spare minute when the Inquisitor went out to take a leak, Varric went out too and asked the man carefully:

"What do you reckon it was with our ambassador? Too much wine?"

The Inquisitor shook his head.

"No, just an old story. Don't ask me, a gentleman never tells."

The dwarf clicked his fingers.

"Aha! So you _had_ a thing with Josie! I could tell that by the way she spoke to you."

Phoebus scoffed.

"Some investigator!"

Varric cocked his head to one side and squinted.

"So, even a drunken gentleman never tells?"

The Inquisitor put his dick back in his pants and told his friend:

"I'm not _that_ drunk."

Akasha yawned and got up.

"Thanks for the evening, gents." She went to the door.

The Inquisitor got up as well, threw his cards on the table and nodded to all present.

"Best of luck winning that pot", he said, winking at Dorian, and followed Akasha out.

"Is he still banging her?" someone asked, all tact forgotten by this time.

Josephine blinked a few times, then blushed like a peony and turned into an attentive ear.

The Iron Bull shook his massive horned head.

"She's injured, how could he?"

Cullen made a wry face and muttered:

"I wouldn't be surprised."

"You don't know him," said the Iron Bull defensively.

Cullen laughed derisively and retorted:

"Of course, how could I ever know a spoiled brat when I see one in Val Royeaux!"

Varric and Dorian started to talk almost simultaneously, Varric said:

"You saw nothing of value!"

And Dorian smirked:

"Some judge of character!"

Cullen raised his hands and said with a trace of irritation in his voice:

"All right, sorry I brought this up! I forgot that his boys' club is here!"

And they continued to play, upping the ante.

Phoebus walked beside Akasha, following her to her room. They walked silently but in unison, acknowledging each other's presence.

In the tower, the Inquisitor kindled fire in the fireplace with one lazy gesture, warmed a tub of water with another flick of his fingers and started helping the woman to take off her jacket.

"How come people know about your magical abilities?" she asked him in her slightly husky musical voice. "It's not like you display it overtly or use in battle..."

The Inquisitor shrugged his shoulders as he was examining how her arm could move.

"Soon after I walked out of the Fade, I caught a boulder in the mountains that would've crushed a troop of soldiers. It was just an instinctive reaction, but it was spectacular enough to give me away as sure as daylight. So I blew my cover and now even my parents know that I'm an apostate."

Akasha smiled, delighted.

"You're telling me that your parents didn't know about your abilities?"

He shrugged and smiled:

"My mom suspected of course, but she wouldn't tell of it to anyone."

Akasha nodded, smiling, and went to the tub of hot water.

"Thank you for warming the water," she said sighing with pleasure as she lowered into the tub.

The Inquisitor smiled.

"That's the least I could do for you."

She looked at him inquisitively and asked:

"Don't you want to hop in? The man I met in Val Royeaux wouldn't pass on such occasion…"

Phoebus shrugged his shoulders and said elusively:

"I can be that cryptic…"

The woman smiled and nodded.

"Your mind is on other things, I get it."

The man sighed and said:

"I should explain about Josephine…"

Akasha nodded.

"If you must…" she made it sound like the topic was completely optional.

Phoebus paused, gathering his thoughts, before starting:

"We had... a relationship. At first, I was too playful and careless, she was taking it too seriously... By the time the misunderstanding transformed into a relationship, we received information that she was engaged to some Antivan fellow... We split, in sort of an ugly way, in a public confrontation at Val Royeaux of such magnitude that I thought she would never want to look my way. So this night's slip of the tongue was actually very surprising to me… Maybe she just relaxed more than she ever meant to…"

Akasha frowned a bit.

"So, am I right that I was intended like a relief after a couple's fight?"

Phoebus swiftly moved to her, dropped to his knees near her and touched her shoulder, looking her in the eyes.

"Akasha. I know how bad this sounds, but that public scandal just happened at the right time and it pushed us out of a stalemate… Josie is a nice woman but… not mine, if you know what I mean. I didn't want to hurt her feelings, but that break-up, however painful, was a good thing…"

He paused, realizing that he'd almost started to stutter, then continued:

"I may have been hard on you a few times. But I felt, not wrongfully, I hope, that you were of the same scale as me. And it feels to me like a match, a real one. That's why I gave you credit, and… frankly, you've surpassed my wildest dreams, and now I start to question myself if I am a match to you."

Akasha thought it over. The man before her was completely honest – she could feel that.

At last she uttered pensively:

"I can understand about the scale. For me, it's also hard to find a match. That's why I left Alistair. When the amorous phase passed, he became as limited and narrow-minded as he'd always been. I kept giving him credit until I just couldn't give it anymore, so I just left…"

Phoebus slowly nodded, sighed and leaned his forehead on her head.

She smiled mildly, staring into the void.

"Good thing I did…"

The man nodded and echoed:

"Yes, a good thing…"

In a few minutes he inhaled resolutely and asked in a much more lively way:

"Do you want me to rub your back?"

The woman smiled:

"Yes. And would you please heat up this tub again?"

**-O-**

This week, the construction works moved at a brisk pace, and both the foreman Gandi and the chief mason dwarf Gatsi were very pleased. The pair looked funny: the huge man and a dwarf, both burly and hairy, like two odd twins. Gandi and Gatsi composed the most improbable duo of the citadel.

As usual, when the Inquisitor lent his hand to the general effort, the workers did better and faster job, for they could not afford to do worse than the Man himself.

Gandi and Gatsi valued the Inquisitor's help very high, as the Trevelyan did not shun any work, any assignment. He was as good clearing out junk and heaving heavy building materials as he was building scaffoldings, restoring staircases and other masonry, or doing some more sophisticated carpentry and joinery works.

The man's skills told the builders that this was not the first construction where Phoebus applied them, and the duo eagerly awaited the right moment when they would be able to satisfy their curiosity.

Having the Trevelyan at the construction site had another beneficial side-effect as many women from around the castle under various pretexts came there to offer water, soap, snacks and refreshments.

Many people came to Skyhold from different feudal properties, and the sight of a nobleman working as one of them at menial jobs attracted much attention.

True to his habits, the Trevelyan was using a scarf to cover his head and the lower part of the face from construction dust and immodest stares. But the day was hot, and he unbuttoned his dirty shirt to cool off a bit.

However, as soon as he did it, a woman's voice called out to him.

He heaved a few wooden planks onto his shoulder, took the basket with instruments and went in the direction of the woman.

Leliana stood there and watched the man approach her. Involuntarily, her eyes lingered on the sweaty dirty six-pack he was nonchalantly displaying.

When the man came over, she gulped and showed him a tankard of cold ale.

"Fancy something cool?" she asked gingerly, grinning.

Phoebus suspiciously eyed her up and down and stood still before her.

"Thanks for offering, but, first, I separate work and leisure, and, second, coming from your deft hands, my esteemed spymaster, it could be anything but beer. No offence, dear."

Leliana sighed and vigorously shook her head.

"Don't be ridiculous, it's just ale!"

The man's icy eyes sparkled with silent laughter.

"Thanks, I'm all set. And, unless you have something important to tell me, I'd rather go resume my current task."

Leliana nodded.

"Of course. I just wanted to ask you if it would be all right if I dropped by your quarters in the evening to discuss a few issues..."

Phoebus gasped ironically:

"Maker! What a conspiracy!... All right, come after dinner."

And he was on his way to the giant scaffolding.

The spymaster was enjoying the sight of his tall broad-shouldered figure from the rear, when her friend Josephine joined her in this gazing.

She sighed.

"What was I thinking when I started that ill-fated scandal?!"

Leliana exhaled, and, never leaving the enjoyable sight, said:

"Beats me..."

At the smith's, it was like stepping into the furnace. The Inquisitor winced and took off his turban.

The smith nodded at him and stopped working the bellows.

"Something urgent, Phoeb? I'm a bit busy here..."

The Inquisitor nodded and rummaged in his belt purse.

"Can you tell me, did you ever seen this brand?"

The smith narrowed his eyes trying to descry the drawing on a small filthy piece of paper.

A round-headed animal with a long curved tail, on four paws.

"Beats me. Ne'er seen anything like it. Where did you find it?"

Phoebus frowned.

"It was brought up to the surface from that tunnel in the barrows... You must've heard of it..."

The smith nodded gravely.

"Nasty business that was. Sorry, pally. Can't help you with that. Maybe that's something dwarven? Gatsi and Gandi did not help?"

The Inquisitor shook his head and turned to leave.

Trying to be helpful, the smith asked:

"And what's so special about this mark?"

Phoebus looked at him with a perplexed expression.

"The shield this brand was on, it could not possibly have survived the damage."

When Leliana entered the Inquisitor's quarters, the man just took off his dirty rags and was washing himself, standing in a tub.

"Do you want me to come later?" the spymaster asked politely, delicately turning away from him.

Phoebus shook his head, still busy lathering himself.

"Come a little bit later, and I'll be soundly snoring. So, you might as well start our conversation."

Leliana nodded and turned to him, her facial expression neutral.

"Well, so, Josephine passed me a few invitations in your name from some interested parties in Val Royeaux that I would like to discuss with you."

"Then discuss," agreed the man, taking a bucket of water and pouring it over his head.

The soapy water trickled down his head, torso and legs, as if braiding his body with glistening weave...

Leliana stopped all pretense of being modest and openly savored the sight.

"But tell me," said Phoebus, spatting the water out of his mouth, "was it so urgent it could not wait until tomorrow?"

The spymaster shrugged her shoulders.

"For purposes of secrecy, we send mail by owls, so it makes sense to settle all affairs before night."

The man "huh"-ed with mild surprise in his tone and rubbed his face and eyes, removing excess water from his skin.

"Crafty. Continue."

"I will only mention those invitations that are important to the Inquisition and should be paid attention to. Madame de Monteran invites you to her salon this Friday..."

Phoebus interrupted her:

"I know the woman and her salon. She nurtures an image of a patron of arts, but her salon is more of a freak show than a gathering of poets..."

Leliana argued:

"BUT her salon is also rife with important Game Players, and it would be very wise to be seen there..."

"In what quality? Another famous freak, another feather in her fan?"

Leliana shrugged her shoulders and said frankly:

"All that depends on you. You may well be invited like another showpiece, but you possess enough brains and charisma to make it your salon, and the evening could end up wrapped around your charming little finger."

Phoebus grinned as he was stepping out of the tub and putting a dark-red towel around his hips.

"Flatterer. Continue."

He went to the backroom and came out holding a bottle in his hand.

"What do you say to a... 'Chateau de Beauregard'?" he asked his spymaster, scrutinizing the label.

Leliana inclined her head and displayed a small devious smile.

"I'd say 'yes' if afterwards I get to pull at that soft red towel of yours..."

Phoebus raised a surprised look from the bottle.

"Did someone bite you recently? What's just came over you?"

Leliana shrugged her shoulders and angelically rolled her eyes upwards.

"Do you realize that you've been an eyesore for the whole castle all day long fussing to and fro in nothing but baggy pants hanging so low one could see the crease of your buttocks, could definitely see your hips, and a shirt open wide to display all of your goddamn anatomy?!"

The Trevelyan scoffed as he put the bottle on the table.

"It was hot, and I also had a scarf on my head and a glove on my left hand!" he protested, laughing, and wriggled fingers on his left hand.

The spymaster scoffed.

"Oh, come now, like that was much of a cover!"

The man pulled up his massive shoulders as he was uncorking the bottle.

"What can I say? Half workmen were dressed like me, and the other half had only their brais on."

Leliana exhaled.

"Anyway, the madam de Monteran's invitation comes into conflict with the one from Richard, the bishop of the Emprise du Lion. He is one of few surviving senior Chantry members, so his word practically weights in gold. I bet he wants to ask you some uneasy questions about the Fade, Andraste, your faith, and a few political matters that are of importance to him. He is very well connected both at the Chantry and at the Orlesian court, because he is related by blood to one of the princely marquises."

The Trevelyan nodded and started pouring the wine into glasses.

"Did his invitation come with a date? Or is it some occasion?"

Leliana nodded.

"A celebration of the day dedicated to a saint patron of apple harvests."

Phoebus sighed and shook his head.

"Riiiiiight, the most important day of the year," he drawled sarcastically as he offered a glass to his spymaster.

Leliana smiled as she took the glass.

"Be patient, the old man just wants to find an excuse to talk to you."

"Is he worth it?"

"Oh yes, absolutely."

"Maybe you should come with me? I bet his talks are more to your liking than to mine... No...? All right, what else?"

"An invitation from one Gérard de Limogères..."

"Who?"

"Gérard de Limogères."

"Do I have to know him?"

"Apparently, he is a husband of one of the ladies who participated in that opera house event..."

Wine almost came through Phoebus's nostrils. He spat it out and went looking for a handkerchief.

"Have mercy, what does the man want from me?!" he asked, wiping his face.

Leliana's small smile was almost cruel.

"We can only guess the scope of his issues with you judging by the nature of your connection to the man."

Phoebus refreshed their glasses and took a sip from his glass.

"What's the tone of his letter?"

"Reserved."

"And the wording?"

Leliana reached into the trumpet of her glove, fished out a piece o parchment and gave it to the Inquisitor.

He quickly scanned the letter.

"Damn, that's a good one," he uttered, returning the parchment to the spymaster. "I remember you being so pissed off at me that you even insulted me, threatened to kill me, walked me through the city in nothing but a piece of dusty curtain, bought me nasty rags and to boot, kicked me into water afterwards..."

The woman vigorously shook her head.

"I kicked you only after you swung me above the rails!"

Phoebus rolled his head up dreamily.

"Ah, _that_ was sweet!"

Leliana's eyes sparkled with genuine – or not – fury.

"You can be such a bastard at times!"

Phoebus approached her and took a sip of his wine, looking the woman straight in the eye.

His full grinning lips were wet with the wine, and Leliana got distracted looking at them.

Suddenly, she grabbed the towel covering his hips and yanked it away.

"Hey!... You were _that_ pissed off?" laughed Phoebus watching the woman. He shook his head disapprovingly. "Admit it," he grinned, "you wanted me all to yourself..."

Leliana quickly put her glass onto the mantelpiece, shed her gloves and slid her palms on his cheeks, while her lips drew to his lips.

"I am with a nice woman," he warned her, turning his head away and pulling back from her.

The spymaster forced his face back to her and articulated, strictly looking into his eyes:

"She is a hetaera. She eats men like you for breakfast."

Phoebus smirked.

"And you would tell me the truth, right?"

Leliana frowned.

"Have you ever been a bard? I've been!" and she resolutely put her lips over his mouth.

The man let her kiss him but was still scoffing, and it angered the woman.

She took his glass away from him, put it next to hers on the mantelpiece and pressed the man to a nearby balcony door.

He laughed lightly, amused by her passionate strokes and kisses, lazily allowing her to do as she pleased.

His lack of interest didn't go unnoticed, and Leliana lowered her eyes to check his tool. Everything seemed to be in order, the tool was in working condition.

The spymaster smiled.

"Do you need more incentive?" she asked the man, stroking his penis.

He grinned.

"What kind of incentive are you talking about?"

She lowered to her knees, and her mouth provided him with a spike of fresh interest.

When he started moaning, Leliana pulled him to the bed, quickly fussed with her pants and sat on top of him.

Phoebus groaned and squeezed her hips, pressing her tightly to him.

His submissive position aroused Leliana still further, she took pleasure in the interaction of their bodies and the overall sight of the man under her.

When they finished, he laughed:

"You are a dangerous person, Leliana. I did not think you had it in you, this rapist side..."

She frowned, but her smiling lips betrayed her.

"With men, I do it only on top. And, frankly, you had it coming, with your show-off attitude."

He grinned.

"So now I'm a culprit to boot."

"Yes, you are," she lowered to kiss him and sighed "You are so arrogant..."

She began moving again, inciting him to do it once more.

Phoebus did not argue, just started undressing the woman.

She allowed him to help her out of the chainmail, but when he got a grip on her tunic, she stopped him.

He murmured, caressing her side:

"You either undress, or the ride is over."

Leliana sighed and let him help her out of the tunic and chemise.

An ugly scar was crossing her right breast and left side of the stomach.

Phoebus sighed as he carefully traced the scar, and looked the woman in the eye.

"I'm sorry," he said simply.

She shrugged her shoulders.

"Don't be."

The tower bell tolled midnight, and the spymaster started gathering her belongings and dressing.

Phoebus watched her lazily, already half-asleep, but nevertheless he joked:

"So, what do you reckon, would my advisors behave any better if I sleep with them once in a while?"

Surprisingly, Leliana answered "yes" in such serious manner that the man opened his eyes wide.

"Really???"

"Yes, really. At least Cassie and your ex Josie. They are mad about you. Although... they are more romantic, and simple sports would probably not be up their alley. But you could try. I liked it..." she came close and kissed the man on the lips. "You're an awesome stud."

Phoebus laughed.

"And you are a vandal. So, about those invitations. I know that the madam holds her salon every Friday, so I'll go to the bishop first, then pay a visit to this guy, whatever his name is, and I'll finish my Orlesian tour by the salon next Friday."

Leliana nodded but paused mid-way pulling on her iron-clad boot.

"Why did you decide to honor de Limogères' invitation?"

The Inquisitor sighed.

"I read his letter, and I think we really need to talk."

**-O-**

As luck would have it, the first person Phoebus bumped into in the morning was Akasha.

"There you are!" he exclaimed cheerfully, kissing the woman's hand. "How has the castle been treating you?"

Akasha shrugged her healthy shoulder and adjusted her sling.

"Oh, you know, this place is amazing... I just do all I can to heal quickly, for I have to go on this trip to the Chasind lands, and it looms over me like a nasty rag."

Phoebus nodded.

"Take your time. I'm sure it can wait a bit more... Listen, Akasha, I have a question for you..."

"Yes?"

"Where did you get that shield that you used to get out of the barrows?"

Her eyes flickered. She licked her lips and asked cautiously:

"What about it?"

The Inquisitor decided to play it light.

"It had a curious drawing on it, a brand picturing an animal I've never seen in Thedas..."

The woman seemed to relax a bit.

She arched her brow and asked innocently:

"What kind of animal?"

"A round head, four paws, a long tail..."

She smiled.

"That's not an animal. That's... primal forefather of men. A very powerful totem for certain southern tribes... Yukaghir, mostly..."

Phoebus grew pensive.

"They must have skilled smiths..."

Akasha carefully looked at him and shook her head.

"No, their metalworking is quite primitive. What are you getting at?"

The Inquisitor met her gaze and said evenly:

"The shield took such amount of damage that it should not have survived to get to the surface. You did not have any shield with you when you joined us inside, so I assumed that it was not yours. And now you are telling me that it came all the way south from Chasind lands, where you definitely have some past buried..."

The woman shrugged her healthy shoulder and lowered her gaze.

"I have a few secrets, as do you. Put it to rest, there is nothing much you can find out. The most important thing is this shield carried me all the way up. It did its job. Let it rest."

Phoebus bit his lip pensively, nodded and sighed.

"So there is no way we could mass-produce such shields?"

The woman's voice was cold.

"No way."

The man's jowls moved a few times while he was deciding something.

"A pity our soldiers cannot get such sturdy shields," he sighed. "Now, speaking of secrets... I need to tell you something. I know it's not the best timing, but it's better I tell it to you now before someone else does..."

The woman nodded. She looked perfectly calm, so Phoebus sighed again and said:

"Last night, I slept with Leliana. I got my playfulness go a bit too far... And I'm very sorry for hurting your feelings."

He said it mildly but without self-effacement, totally accepting his responsibility, and patiently waited for the woman's response.

Akasha's eyebrows shot up in surprise at this sudden switch of gears; she took time to digest this, then asked:

"Was it good?"

The Trevelyan waved his hands helplessly.

"Well, it was... messy. Apparently, I should get more dressed up even in these hot days..."

Akasha laughed.

"Judging by the comments I was hearing this whole week, you had it coming."

The man frowned.

"What comments? I was working! Is it so damn exotic these days?!"

His friend smiled like a cat that ate a canary and murmured:

"You take pleasure in such simple works, and people can feel it. They are always attracted to pleasure and well-being... And Leliana... she's always wanted something she did not possess... I've known her for ages, and, honestly, I cannot blame her..."

Phoebus kissed her hand again and asked:

"Am I pardoned then?"

"Dream it. First of all, I'm fastidious, and, second, I'm... pissed off. It's better for you to make happy all women desiring you before you ever speak to me again."

Phoebus winced.

"My darling dear, it was not like I was parading naked to get laid!"

Akasha shrugged her healthy shoulder and looked the man in the eyes.

"I knew who I was dealing with even before the opera house, and I had my share of fun. And now I need to go."

And she left, leaving the Inquisitor lost in thought.

**-O-**

An envoy came late in the evening. He saluted formally to Akasha and gave her a note.

"You are being summoned to the new wing of the hospital, second floor," he said in a monotonous voice.

The note was signed by Vivienne, and Akasha sighed, wondering what kind of ministrations would require such late hour.

The ground floor smelled of fresh sheets and was totally deserted, the first one, also deserted, looked like a pharmacy with a multitude of herbs and bottles... But when she arrived to the second floor, she instantly grew suspicious.

There was only one room on the floor, and it was decorated like a lavish spa with its lit candles, soft carpets, flowers, low sofas and a multitude of pillows, big and small, decorative jeweled boxes and vials of aromatic oils...

The mage Dorian was standing near the entrance, waiting for her.

He elegantly bowed to her and said with a light smile:

"Tonight, we shall try a different treatment, my dear. Please put on this mask and trust me to do you nothing but good..."

Akasha looked at the provided blindfold and ironically curved her brow.

"Ah, Dorian, I would trust you implicitly, but I suspect that you are not the brain behind this little entertainment..."

The mage scoffed.

"Does it really matter? Please indulge me."

The woman slightly smiled and put on the blindfold.

The mage gently took her by the hand and ushered in the direction of the bathtub, if she recalled it correctly.

She felt a slight movement of air behind her back, and two pairs of gentle male hands started carefully undressing her.

Tenderly and very slowly, the two men bathed her, then enveloped in a big towel and transported to the bed, all the way being extremely careful not to hurt her injured arm.

Now came the time for oil massage, which turned out to be extremely sensuous and slow; the woman felt almost dissolving into the caresses and movements of skin on well-oiled skin, smart hands lovingly exploring her every part, her every muscle and tendon, rubbing, twirling, pressing, sliding and pulsating...

The perfume of oils and the leisurely dance of coiling hands mesmerized her and put her in a trance-like state. The two men pressed their naked oiled bodies to hers from both sides of her, warming her, lulling her like two rolling waves, electrifying her body.

Their abstinence from touching her erogenic zones made her desire simmer for a while, and only when she started displaying signs of impatience did the rear man start fondling her breasts and the other one got to her crotch.

No single kiss was shared, and still there was so much desire in the air, that their breaths became audible, labored. A couple fingers slid inside her, and she finally sighed with satisfaction, ready to explode, to give herself, but the skillful fingers did not give way to anything more substantial and continued tormenting her, backed by another finger of the second man from behind.

The woman came in such a long and bright spasm that she briefly lost all notion of self; a primeval guttural sound escaped her wide-open mouth, and her tense body completely relaxed in the arms of her massagers.

Both men caressed her a while longer, then tucked a soft warm blanket all around her, and silently left her to drift into a blissful sleep.

**-O-**

The bishop resided in a simple yet very well thought-through house at the edge of Sahrnia. The massive walls did not let the cold in, and drafts were practically non-existent in this silent place.

**-O-**

The Inquisitor made his way to the bartender and tossed him a gold coin. The heavyset man grinned, bit the coin and brushed a snoring dwarf off a nearby table.

The Trevelyan sat at the table and looked at the snoring dwarf. The latter possessed an unruly mane of red hair and a face covered in scars. He produced an overall look of a seasoned warrior on his low, and the Inquisitor, now curious, kicked him not too hard in his side.

The warrior dwarf growled in his sleep and spat squarely on the Inquisitor's boot without even so much as opening his eyes.

Phoebus laughed, amused by the dwarf's precision, and the fallen warrior opened an eye.

He stared at the man inquiringly, as if asking none too politely: "What'ya gaping at?"

The Inquisitor grinned and lowered to the dwarf.

"Care for another drink, my treat?" he asked the redhead, nodding to the barkeep.

Two pitchers of ale materialized on the table, and, as if by magic, the dwarf was propelled from the floor. He landed on a bench in front of the Trevelyan, eyeing him warily.

Phoebus took his ale and scoped the dwarf once again.

A Grey Warden buckle on a rather unimpressive suit of armor caught his attention, but he decided against bringing it up now.

The dwarf, still suspiciously gawking at the benefactor, downed half a pint in one gulp and exhaled with unfeigned satisfaction.

Both men were in no hurry to spill their beans and were exchanging sideward glances like two duelists, assessing each other.

The dwarf was clearly perplexed at the reason why a nobleman would pay for his drink, but then obviously decided that it was some mercenary business, and relaxed.

"Well, mighty nice of ya to offer me a drink," he said, rolling his "r's" in the distinctly Orzammar manner.

The corners of the Inquisitor's lips stretched into a half-smile.

"You're welcome, good man. My name is Trevelyan, from the Free Marches."

They shook hands.

"Oghren, from clan Kondrat."

Again, they've exchanged appraising glances.

Phoebus squinted lightly at the dwarf.

"You look like you can take care of yourself, Oghren, or am I mistaken?"

The dwarf shrugged carelessly.

"Shave me back an' call me an elf! Hey kid, I've been out 'ere polishing me axe when ya 'ere still yo momma's boy..." he peeked doubtfully at the bottom of the empty pitcher.

The Inquisitor laughed lightly and waived to the bartender.

The waiter brought them some food and more ale.

The dwarf cast an attentive glance at the man and shook his head.

"Ye laugh like a knife-ear I've known. A good chap he was, smart too."

The Trevelyan raised his pitcher.

"To your chap, Oghren. What's happened to him?"

The dwarf sadly shook his head and sighed:

"Took off with the Hero of Ferelden. Ne'er seen 'im again..."

Phoebus arched his brow.

"Was he a Grey Warden?"

Oghren frowned, gripped his Grey Warden buckle tightly in his fist and clanked his pitcher against the tabletop.

"No one touches Oghren's junk and lives! Not too subtle, ya questions, Free Marcher. What 'bout ya? What d' ya do for a livin'?"

The Inquisitor shrugged his shoulders and parted his arms.

"Just a regular Inquisition man on a mission. Could use a hand..."

**-O-**

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The de Limogères mansion was an old dilapidated building dating at least to the ………Dragon………age, with an overgrown garden and a green pool at the center of a square in front of the house.

The Trevelyan left his Asaarash to the care of a valet, waived Oghren to follow him and introduced himself to an ancient majordomo.

Soon enough, they were seen to the living room and left alone.

Phoebus was well familiar with such houses and their tales of past glories proudly displayed on their walls in derelict glass cases and heavy gilded frames. This one was no exception. Dark crinkled portraits watched him tiredly from their fly droppings-ridden canvases, ancient weapons made one with their supports due to rust abundantly adorning them, long-forgotten mementoes like gloves and handkerchiefs were rotting in their dusty cases, stuffed animal heads made homes for spiders and some other small beasties... The once-green wallpapers were stained and peeling... everything was screaming of despair.

When studying an antique head of a wyvern, Phoebus heard a door creaking and turned around.

The master of the house looked like a man in his 60-ies but actually could well be about 10 years younger.

He had nasty pox marks covered skin, a big bulbous nose and a pair of small closely set eyes.

But in spite of all his physical defects and an outdated attire, his eyes were lucid, and he produced an overall impression of a clever man.

When he saw the Herald's high-cheeked handsome face, his glance became sad. He slightly bowed in an old-fashioned style and invited the guest to take a seat, paying no attention to the dwarf.

Phoebus chose an arm-chair that looked a bit sturdier than others, and gingerly lowered himself into it. The arm-chair loudly creaked under his weight. Oghren followed suit, making exaggerated noises, unhappy with the evident lack of respect from the owner of the mansion.

The host cast a displeased glance at the dwarf, sighed with slight annoyance, poured a few drops of some strong liquor into three glasses and handed one of them to the Inquisitor and the other to the dwarf.

"I must apologize for disrepair," he ventured, taking a seat on a nearby sofa. "Much damage was done to it during the Blight..."

Phoebus kept the glass in his hand but was very reluctant to put it to his lips. And while Oghren made every effort to stay civil and not be outraged by those few meager drops of liquor that did not even reach his throat, the Inquisitor frowned and remarked:

"I didn't know this area was affected by Blight..."

The host shook his head.

"Not the last one, the forth."

The Trevelyan was not particularly good with history, but he knew that at least a few hundred years usually passed between the Blights...

He cleared his throat.

"But the architecture here is... well, fascinating. This should be officially announced a historical site."

A kind of childish glee lit in the eyes of the house owner, and for an instant, he appeared quite his age.

As he was dallying to bring up the subject of his summons, Phoebus decided to push him a bit.

"However, and sadly, I’m not here to admire your excellent manor. As I was in the area on my way to Val Royeaux, I decided to pay you a visit to sort out claims that you've made in your letter..." he dug out the piece of parchment from inside the trumpet of his glove and showed it to the man. "Is it yours?"

He gave the letter to its writer and saw him nodding in visible embarrassment as the landowner recognized his writing.

The Inquisitor continued:

"I'm not here to say that I did not participate in the orgy, and if you think I somehow offended your spouse I'm ready to settle this in an honorable duel."

Oghren could not let pass such saucy piece of news and woohooed quite loudly, cheering the Inquisitor.

Pain reflected in the eyes of Gérard de Limogères. He fumbled with his glass and stifled a sigh.

"As you can see, I'm in no comparable shape to fight you in a duel, sire, unless I wanted further humiliation at your hand. But I believe I deserve a sincere apology for mistreating my wife."

Phoebus waived his hands in protest.

"Wait, messere, I would never mistreat a woman. I could apologize for sleeping with her, even if I do not recall doing that, but I would not tell lies about myself."

The master of the house grew somewhat agitated.

"See? That's where it gets tricky!" he exclaimed as if he had been rehearsing this conversation before. "I cannot allow you to say that! For it would bring more humiliation! The word 'mistreat' is safer, for it is general enough and reflects a notion of inappropriate conduct."

The Trevelyan's quick temper almost got the best of him.

He impatiently exhaled and exchanged brief glances with the dwarf.

"Look, I see that you are a reasonable person, but please understand, I can say that I slept with her, banged her, pounded her, bonked her, screwed her, poked her or whatever, but never ask me to say I mistreated her..." suddenly his tone changed, and he ended sadly "I've got enough mistreatment on my hands to last me a lifetime."

The owner of the manor stirred and leaned forward, his smart eyes unexpectedly compassionate.

"What's happened, your Worship? Would you tell me?"

Phoebus sighed and took a swig of that liquor from his glass.

"An anchor on my hand happened, that's all," he said and stood up. "If you want an apology, I'll be at madam de Monteran's salon in a couple of days and there I can announce that I apologize for offending you, if that suits you."

The landowner cringed.

"What's the use for all apologies if you do not feel regret?"

Phoebus nodded.

"It's true, I feel no remorse for participating in that party, but I regret to have inflicted you pain."

The owner shook his head.

"That's all right, you'll have time to reflect on your regrets."

The Inquisitor frowned and stared at the man.

"What do you mean..." and he felt the floor leaving from under him. Everything went black.

He woke up chained to a wall in some kind of basement. The owner of the mansion stood in front of him, musing on something. Oghren was bound like a sausage, gagged and thrown to the floor to the right of the Inquisitor. The dwarf appeared a bit woozy and had a large bump on his head.

Phoebus said to the owner of the mansion in a low and dangerously calm voice:

"What's this? Are you really out of your mind? Do you understand the consequences of your actions?"

The man slowly shook his head.

"No one will find you here."

"Riiiiiiight, not even my spymaster! You wish! I cannot even go take a leak without her knowing. And I cringe at the mere thought of what she could do to you."

The man stubbornly lowered his head and looked at the Inquisitor sullenly.

"I'll take my chances."

And he left the room, leaving the prisoners alone.

The Trevelyan swore under his breath and whistled loudly to get the attention of his companion.

"You all right?" he asked the dwarf and, after the latter's affirmative nod started to reflect on their options.

Then he sighed and said out loud:

"Let's give this chevalier an hour to change his mind..."

Oghren sighed discontentedly, but the Inquisitor explained:

"I cannot punish the man just for being brought up by stupid parents. And his wife could indeed be one of those frisky ladies..."

There was no way Phoebus could know with any amount of certainty when that hour would pass, so he just used his chains to make some chin ups, crunches and a couple of other exercises, then counted all cobwebs, and when he finally got bored, he started reflecting on the most efficient way to get rid of his shackles.

He was reluctant to use magic, as it would draw his new companion's unwanted attention to his abilities, but it seemed to be the most quick and efficient way out of this situation. So he began perusing through his skills... melting the shackles was out of the question, for it could damage his own skin; freezing and then breaking them could also be as nasty as melting; covering with rust could take a long time; implosion was great for this purpose but not one of his fortes; transmutation could be the least spectacular and thus great for his purposes...

He focused, then flicked his hands, and the heavy irons snapped like some fragile old clay.

The Inquisitor shook himself free from the smithereens and went to the dwarf.

"That crazy flake let rot everything in this house," he murmured as he fumbled with Oghren's bindings and the gag.

The dwarf stretched and let out a long string of such colorful expletives that Phoebus laughed.

"Wow, I should've hired you for your swearing abilities alone!"

Oghren sighed contentedly and pointed to an air vent that presumably was leading somewhere outside.

"Let's first get out of 'ere and then we'll string this cuckold by his balls!"

The Inquisitor nodded enthusiastically, and the dwarf removed the grid.

Inside the duct, it was beyond dirty, but Phoebus carefully amplified the natural flow of air, and all the dust and debris was pushed in front of them as they moved through the pipe.

Oghren said nothing, but Phoebus understood that it would be silly to believe he could hide his abilities from the dwarf, not after that far-fetched rotten shackles story.

So he said:

"If you have any questions, you may as well ask them."

However, the dwarf surprised him by saying:

"Bah, it's just if I knew yer 'ere the Man 'imself, I'd ask fer mo' gold, s'all."

The Inquisitor appreciated the dwarf's practical approach by patting Oghren's shoulder and went on crouching in the dusty pipe.

The Trevelyan was well aware that the chevalier's wounded pride combined with the poisoned mind of a recluse could spawn any amount of devious traps, so when the gust of air returned to them, showering them in waste, he understood that there was an obstacle ahead.

Carefully, he peeked from behind the corner and his jaw nearly dropped. Shackled to both walls, a huge angry wyvern was almost taking up the whole space of the tube.

And it was hungry.

Having dodged the beast's ball of flames, Phoebus hid behind the corner and silently congratulated the chevalier on his original wits – even if dead, the wyvern would still be effectively blocking the passage.

Oghren, having evaluated the beast at a glance, took cover and let out another string of expletives.

"I swear I'll feed the geezer his own nipples!" he huffed and clenched his fists.

The Trevelyan reflected on their options. To turn back and try to waltz through the home grounds of a sick man or try this shorter but as unpredictable route...

He sighed. The wyvern. They've never used to hunt down such beasts in a company of less than three well-armed men. The implosion came into his mind again, as it would be the perfect phenomenon for the situation, as it would rid the tube of the carcass clogging the exit...

Phoebus closed his eyes and tried to make a walkthrough of his actions. He would be unable to implode the whole animal in one try, so it would make sense to first kill it... the trick was to focus the spell very precisely on the animal's vital organs, like its heart or brain. The Inquisitor opted for brain as more easily targetable.

Then he had to feel the wyvern, to sense the exact distance where the spell should be set active.

And the spell itself... he vaguely recalled his exercises with Solas. The elf was saying something like: "Close your fist. Tighter. Tighter. Still tighter... Implosion is a thousand times that, and then some... When only a grain remains where a mammoth stood... and as heavy as that mammoth..."

Phoebus inflated his cheeks in confusion.

The fire, the water, the air – he could feel them, and it made so much easier for him to understand and master them. Being good with his hands, he could also easily understand various materials and their transmutation... But this... he thought of bypassing the need of implosion and replacing it with... explosion, for example. But this, again, was beyond his expertise. He just could not perceive the force behind this phenomenon...

Oghren grew restless, and the Inquisitor realized he was wasting time. So he swiftly peeked from behind the corner and just turned the wyvern's brain into stone.

The beast silently nudged its head and lay still.

The dwarf exclaimed:

"I'm yer man, Man! The cleanest kill I've ever seen! Totally the best...!"

The Trevelyan shook his head and sighed:

"Now the messiest part – to get past it."

Oghren grew pensive as if the thought just occurred to him.

The Inquisitor cautiously approached the dead animal. It was warm to the touch and motionless.

"I'm sorry," whispered Phoebus and began practicing implosion.

Forty minutes later, they clambered out of the vent system, covered in dust and stains from wyvern guts.

A scout came running to him from the nearby bushes and saluted him.

The Inquisitor ordered.

"Bring me my Arvaraash, arrest the owner, burn the mansion to the ground and destroy the basement. It outstood its time."

And, when the scout left, Phoebus said:

"I'll pay for your booze the rest of the week if you spare me the humiliation and don't mention the part where we got past the carcass..."

Oghren snorted sarcastically and objected:

"No less than a month, buddy, starting today."

"Deal."

**-O-**

**-O-**

Oghren turned his head around at a risk of twisting it off.

Skyhold produced that effect on most people, and the dwarf proved to be no exception.

The Inquisitor directed him to the tavern, gave him a few coppers, and went to visit his spymaster.

Leliana greeted him lively, visibly happy to see him.

But Phoebus asked her right away:

"Where's Akasha and how is she?"

His spymaster frowned, steeling herself, and answered in a dry, professional manner:

"Her shoulder is healing slowly, and she has not wandered too far away from the citadel. She spoke mostly to Solas, the Iron Bull, and Varric. Right now, she must be around the stables, talking to the foreman or some such."

Phoebus nodded and said on his way out:

"I'll listen to the rest of your report later."

It was hot at the blacksmith's, and Phoebus had to wait a few moments to adjust his eyesight to the twilight of the room.

The woman in the dark-red leather suit was watching the smith's hammer fashioning a filigree spike.

She was aware of his presence but did not make any move to acknowledge him.

The smith, however, as soon as he plunged the finished spike into water, greeted the Inquisitor:

"Your Worship! When did you return?"

"Just an hour ago. What's the news in here?"

The smith shrugged and gave Akasha the freshly made spike.

"Gatsi managed to restore the western outer wall, and Gandi drew out the spring that was causing the basement to float... And I finished the grate for the Left Bastion, now it's high time for me to resume Master Dennet's order of hooves and such... So, you know, business a s usual... Do _you_ have anything to tell us?"

The Inquisitor sighed.

"Nothing much. There will be a court trial one of these days, a sad affair. Then I brought in several new people, including bath attendants from a Val Royeaux spa salon, so we'll finally have decent baths..."

The smith squeezed one eye shut and grinned mockingly:

"I hope they have gingers there..."

Phoebus nodded to him.

"Oh, I'm sure they do, but you'll have to compete with the Iron Bull, he's in for gingers as well..."

Then he turned to Akasha and asked her casually, his stare deceptively lazy:

"And how's business of our scouts? Anything of note?"

Akasha looked at him for the first time, her face neutral, her high cheekbones gleaming in the warm glow of hot coals from the furnace.

Then she noticeably shrugged her healthy shoulder and said:

"Not that I know of. They keep the roads clear of beasts and riff-raff, and that's probably the total scope of my knowledge."

The Inquisitor nodded and asked in the same casual tone, but with a hint at a warm and more personal undertone:

"And how's your shoulder? Healing?"

Akasha nodded.

"Vivienne has been performing daily wonders on it. So it's healing pretty well."

The man sighed.

"Not what I've heard. I'll take a look at this shoulder of yours later tonight. And now I need your advice on a mercenary I've recruited on my way to Val Royeaux. Name's Oghren, claims to have fought the Blight alongside the Hero of Ferelden. And, as I know you are a big fan of hers, maybe you'd be interested to talk to the dwarf..."

Akasha stirred, emotion for the first time appeared on her smooth face.

"Oghren, you say? Where does he stay?"

"I left him at the tavern... Come to think of it, it wasn't probably a good idea. Let's go..."

Oghren was already deep in an argument with a monk, and it looked like the argument would soon grow into an exchange of blows.

The Inquisitor went to shake hands with the Iron Bull and his team, ordered a pitcher of ale and took a seat with the best view on the blooming scuffle.

Akasha took a seat in front of the man and prepared to watch the show.

The brawl quickly caught fire across the whole room, the kitchen staff were defending the tavern assets, and the other combatants divided into a pro-dwarven and a pro-elven parties.

So, eventually, Phoebus had to grab their pitcher just in time to prevent it from being smashed against someone's head, and drag Akasha closer to a wall.

When she stood up, Oghren spotted her and reacted to his opponent's blow a fraction of a second later than was necessary. Dazed, he fell to the floor, and the overall merriment went on without him.

Akasha managed to drag him into a corner and splashed some of their ale across his face.

"Hey, it's ale!!!" cried both the Inquisitor and the dwarf, the latter instantly coming to his senses.

He gawked at Akasha as if he was seeing a phantom, but eventually he managed to articulate:

"By the tits of me ancestors! You! Of all people! I thought I'd seen a bloody ghost!"

They hugged each other with such cordiality that Phoebus grinned. His hunch proved to be true – the old dwarf was a relief that the woman needed.

They found a table on the second floor where they could exchange their stories without being harassed by brawlers, but could drag the dwarf up there only after much persuasion. For quite some time, he kept trying to rejoin the fight, crying out: "You can take a warrior out of the fight, but you can never take the fight out of the warrior!" But he was in no shape to keep on fighting, and finally he settled in, grumbling something unintelligible under his nose.

First of all, Akasha warned the dwarf about holding his tongue on the whole Hero of Ferelden business, and, after making sure the message did indeed sink through, she asked him:

"So, what about your family, Felsi and the boy?"

Oghren sniffed and grumbled:

"Better off without me..."

Akasha nodded, not trying to dissuade him.

"Probably true..."

Awkward at first, the conversation picked up speed, until, in a middle of a laugh, Oghren suddenly blacked out and started to snore.

Phoebus, exposed for the first time to such odd behavior, tried to wake up the dwarf, but Akasha stopped him.

"Don't wake him up. This started happening to him after a bad blow to the head. He just gets knocked out and sleeps well through the night..." she paused and then said "Thank you for bringing him here. He's a mess, but he is still that good, funny person I used to know."

Phoebus put on his poker face and said:

"All righty. Let me see your shoulder and I'll go to sleep. The day's been long."

The woman smiled.

"You can see it tomorrow, if you are so tired."

The Inquisitor frowned.

"If there is some inflammation that our good Vivienne missed, it'd be silly to let you unnecessarily suffer one more night."

Akasha thought it through and finally said with a sigh:

"Let's go."

Her room was even cozier than Phoebus had remembered.

There were new draperies on her four-poster bed, a fluffy rug covered the stone floor, all windows were mended.

Akasha carefully removed her jacket with the man's help and let him take off all other layers from her torso.

Phoebus sighed as he meticulously studied all her bruises and scratches. Then he gently palpated the shoulder, made it move while feeling all its muscles and joints...

The woman moaned a few times where it hurt, and Phoebus sent there healing energy, soothing the painful knots.

When he finished, the crease on the woman's face smoothed out.

"You do it very well. Thank you."

He nodded tiredly, acknowledging her gratitude.

"I removed most of the edema that prevented normal blood circulation, so you'll have a hopefully better sleep tonight. But you have an inflammation of the fascia, and it would do well to treat it tomorrow morning, when incoming blood accentuates the problem... I'd sleep here in the attic, just in case, but I don't want to invade your privacy..."

Akasha sighed, shrugged with her good shoulder and replied:

"You may stay as long as it takes my shoulder to heal."

Phoebus arched his brow.

"Do you realize that this is not the best incentive for me to play a good doctor?"

Akasha sized him up and said:

"I can always ask Vivienne."

The blond Trevelyan nodded, understanding his weak position, but could not help arguing:

"The good her ministrations did you!"

The woman fell silent for a spell, then mused aloud:

"Your fingers... It's like they have an intelligence of their own... They are unforgettable." She took his hand in hers and felt his palm with her fingertips. "Yes, unforgettable..."

When her eyes met his, he saw the same gratitude he had found so fascinating when they had met in Val Royaux.

He smiled, never leaving her gaze. It felt like they were on the verge of kissing, but then he said gently "Sweet dreams, milady," and stood up from the bed.

**-O-**

TRAVEL TO CHASIND LANDS

Busy with her packing, Akasha saw the Inquisitor only after she turned in the direction of a sound of the creaking leather coming through the ajar door.

The man was standing outside the door to her room busy adjusting his baldric. He was dressed in his classic travelling Inquisitor style: dark leather suit, a hood shadowing his face and a scarf covering his nose, mouth and chin, a nice versatile yataghan on a baldric and a bow with a quiver of arrows at his back.

Seeing her watching him, he said resolutely:

"I'm going with you. The journey to Chasind lands is long and unsafe."

By his brisk manner she understood that it would be pointless to argue, and only nodded.

The man waited for her to exit the room, took her sack and waited for her to close the door.

Master Dennet was holding the horses by the reins at the gate. They were already saddled and packed for a long trip.

Phoebus fixed the woman's sacks on the saddle of her pacer, nodded to a few workmen that had greeted him on their way to the scaffolding, and thanked Master Dennet.

The roads took them far east, to much lower altitudes, to dense woods and picturesque valleys of the Hinterlands, and farther still, to Lake Calenhad, and the Redcliffe castle, where they were cordially greeted by the Arl of Redcliffe, Teagan Guerrin, brother to the old Bann Eamon.

Upon seeing Akasha, the Bann instantly dropped to his knees and lowered his head, but the woman hurried to explain to him that she was visiting him incognito. The Bann agreed but provided the travelers with such lavish quarters and such a feast that only the Inquisitor's presence could make up for such excesses.

The musicians did their best to accommodate for the refined tastes of the Orlesian (as they thought) guests, and Bann Teagan invited a few beautiful dancers to cheer up the Inquisitor.

Then the host saw his Queen watching a dancer caress the Herald of Andraste, and asked her in a polite whisper:

"Maybe your Majesty wants an escort for her comfort as well?"

Keeping her gaze on the interesting action, Akasha smiled and quietly replied:

"I'm all set, thank you, Teagan."

Then she paused and asked him:

"Have you got any news from Alistair and Yaoro?"

Bann Teagan hesitated then dutifully answered:

"As far as I know, His Majesty acts as if nothing happened, although..."

"Although?" she hurried him.

"Although there have been rumors..."

"Yes?" she was not famous for patience.

Bann Teagan sighed.

"People say a certain lady has become quite close with His Majesty..."

Akasha calmly nodded.

"Good for him. But how's Yaoro? How's my son?"

Bann Teagan looked relieved and answered cheerfully:

"Everyone at the court is praising His Highness for his brightness, his good looks and smartness. He is the court's sweetheart."

Akasha smiled a genuine and profound smile that illuminated her from inside. She laughed:

"I hope you are telling me the truth, dear Teagan, for I would not like to be disappointed..."

The Arl of Redcliffe vigorously shook his head.

"Your Majesty, I swear to you, I'm as truthful as anyone who would catch even a glimpse of your boy!"

The woman laughed and nodded, standing up.

"Anyway, I will soon have my own opinion on the matter. Thank you for the evening, Teagan."

And she went to the Inquisitor's seat.

The dancer caught site of the approaching woman only when the latter loomed over them, obscuring the light.

Phoebus looked at Akasha, but said nothing.

She asked him neutrally:

"Are you indisposed tonight? The girl tries her best to please you."

The man shrugged his shoulders.

"Maybe it's the settings..."

Akasha's eyes twinkled deviously when she asked:

"Can we discuss it someplace else?"

Phoebus's eyes lit up, he stood up briskly and stepped aside from his armchair.

"Don't leave the girl behind," purred Akasha, walking toward the exit.

The Inquisitor arched his brow but nodded to the dancer to follow him and went to the door.

Akasha walked to his quarters and stood by the entrance, waiting for the man.

He opened the door with his key, pushed it and ushered Akasha inside.

She smiled as she entered the room, and went straight to a broad chair standing in front of the master-bed.

"You might as well resume what you've been so indiscreetly doing in the dining hall," she purred, lowering her buttocks on the chair.

Phoebus hesitated, trying to read her.

Akasha looked at him, smiled and said:

"Don't worry about me, I'll find things to do..."

The Inquisitor frowned and did not budge.

"Why do I have an impression that you are leading me on?"

The woman smiled devilishly again.

"Oh, I might be. Definitely. But could you just humor me?"

The man asked, arching his brow:

"What do you want me to do?"

"Let this girl caress you. Love her back."

Phoebus narrowed his eyes.

"Why would I?"

"Why wouldn't you?"

"Just for the sake of rioting. I do not understand your intentions."

Akasha looked at him with her laughing eyes:

"Does it matter?"

The Trevelyan let out a discontented growl and made a few steps toward the woman.

His face was tense when he said:

"Don't ask me to be with someone else. I don't want to."

A playful smile on her lips, Akasha looked the man in the eyes and asked:

"Even on interesting terms?"

The man arched his brow and tentatively asked:

"What terms?"

Akasha lingered, savoring the moment, then said nonchalantly:

"What if I offer you a day of my submission, after a day of your submission. You will obey anything I ask of you, and then you will have a whole day of my obedience..."

His icy eyes fixed her with a direct stare.

"Any catch?"

She shook her head after meeting his gaze.

"No catch, except that my day will start only after we leave the Chasind and Ferelden altogether."

The man said quickly:

"You have a deal. But you are not allowed any delays. You will start your day as soon as we cross the last totem pole."

She nodded.

"All right. I know the one you are talking about."

Phoebus loudly exhaled and asked in a business-like manner:

"So, you want me to have sex with this girl?"

Akasha nodded and murmured innocently:

"Yes, please."

He grinned and went to the bed.

The dancer, who had heard every word of their conversation, followed the man.

Akasha observed them for some time, delighting in what she saw, then she started unhurriedly removing her garments until she was left in her smallclothes.

She was sitting there, fondling her body, taking pleasure in it, watching the couple caress each other, making eye contact with them, enjoying fire in Phoebus's eyes, his strong arms petting the girl's skin, the sight of the dancer's young breasts and cute rectangle of her pubic hair...

All three came almost simultaneously, then Akasha went to them, kissed them both with gratitude, gathered her dress and left the room as she was in wet smallclothes but in good spirits and her head held high.

In the morning, a knock on the door woke her up.

"Room service!" she heard a familiar baritone.

She sighed. Even if she had not wanted to see the man, his voice made her change her mind.

Rolling her eyes and stretching leisurely, she answered:

"It's open."

When the door opened, a servant came in, carrying a tray with breakfast. Then a maid came to assist the Queen in her morning ablutions, and only after them, when Akasha thought she had heard it wrong, Phoebus came in. He was dressed in his impeccable laconic way he reserved for his Herald persona.

When their eyes met, Akasha noticed their particularly beautiful expression. They were practically shining.

The man's vibrations were extremely high and pure this morning.

Phoebus softly smiled at her and uttered:

"I've had second thoughts about our deal. How about this: no deals. I'm no saint but I'm not fool enough to ruin something beautiful, even if it stays only as a memory."

Akasha stood up from her bed and beamed happily.

The maid brought her a light morning gown, and the servant removed the cover from the tray, revealing a lavish breakfast.

After making both servants leave, Akasha took a cup with some steaming drink from the table and said:

"I... I'm glad you said that."

She paused, took a sip from the cup, and turned to the man.

He nodded, dragged a chair nearer to the table and sat on it, assuming his usual easy-going persona.

The woman sat in front of him and began her breakfast.

The Chasind territory met them with light snow and still air.

Akasha was growing more attentive by each step, and her mood grew less and less decipherable for Phoebus.

……………………………… 

**-O-**

"A ball? Are you crazy?"

Phoebus grinned, his eyes twinkling.

"Remember, it was you who told me of this way out. Masks! And we could lie our way through. I'll say I'm my brother Gabriel Trevelyan, and you are my companion. That's all. There will be a lovely cello concert, we could dance, I'll find you the best dress in Thedas…"

Akasha giggled and shook her head, refusing to believe.

"I can't believe you're the same man who fought the ice troll with a shard of ice stuck in your neck and still managed to cover his companions while being shot at by those crazy Hakkonites!"

Phoebus lifted his finger and said with mocking seriousness:

"You forget that pesky gurgut, who was chomping at my thigh at the same time…"

The woman nodded.

"Exactly. So who are you, stranger?"

He ruffled his blond hair and sighed.

"You definitely prefer it when I give out orders. Because when I ask, you always start arguing."

The woman smiled slyly.

"Tell you what. Let's start a day of my submission, and then it will be your day of submission. You will obey anything I tell you…"

His lips stretched into a delighted grin.

"And now you will go with me to Val Royeaux…"

"And even dance with you at that ball…"

His icy eyes fixed her with a direct stare.

"And what if I want to fuck you right in the street somewhere?"

She blushed a bit and lowered her eyes, but then shrugged.

"I'll survive it. Maybe your day will be worse…"

"Is that a threat?"

"A promise."

"Can't wait."

He opened the door to the boudoir for her, and she could not help but catch her breath.

The tall, broad-shouldered man standing before her was dressed in a luxuriously tailored lightest blue silk attire, his light velvet half-mask did nothing to hide his sensuous lips and short fashionable stubble.

He was shining like a diamond.

He grinned at her happily, kissed her hand gallantly and showed inside.

The bed was covered by a gown. It was so splendid, that even Akasha, the Queen of Ferelden, felt a slight trepidation, when touching the champagne-colored silk atlas covered in such delicate embroidery that it seemed to be embroidered with light and emanate a glow on its own. A refined gilded half-mask lay on the gown, its golden laces in artful disarray.

Akasha sighed.

"I could not even imagine such beauty existed…"

"That's because you don't like shopping," laughed Phoebus tugging at the belt of her bathrobe. "Now, my sweetest woman, just stay still…"

Carefully and gently, he took off her slightly moist bathrobe and opened an elegant cardboard box with some flimsy airy things inside.

Akasha stood naked before him and watched curiously as he took out a pair of silk stockings. Lovingly, he stroked her bare leg and started rolling on a stocking. It felt delicious, as the firm yet flexible silk crawled upwards to her knee, contoured it, then went higher, to her thigh and stopped near the hip.

The man's warm large palm lingered on the inside of the woman's thigh, but then he fixed the garter and switched to her other foot, then ankle, then shin, then knee, and thigh again. Again, his hand was bare inches from her labia, but his nimble fingers seemingly had other things to do than to pay attention to the womanly parts.

Akasha's nipples betrayed her, and sweet shivers ran down her spine. Her mouth opened involuntarily and her hips made a tale-telling move forward.

The blond man smiled and took out semi-transparent panties of whitest silk from the box.

The woman sighed and swallowed hard.

Gently and carefully, as before, the man slid the panties up. When the silk touched her wet labia, Akasha let out a sigh.

Then an airy semi-transparent silk chemise made its appearance from the same box and was slipped on, caressing the woman's skin... Akasha bit her lip, but held on.

The man was taking out the corset now. A powder-pink thing with white brocade that gripped her torso in a tight cage.

Phoebus managed to put the corset on the woman so dexterously, that he almost didn't touch her in the process, the only time his fingers slid on her shoulders was when he straightened the straps. And he did it so lovingly that the woman's décolleté heaved and trepidated.

The momentary instance, when he put his hands on her sides made her almost lose her footing. She rolled her eyes. The man drove her crazy with desire. She would give herself to him any time he slightly touched her.

But a promise was a promise, so she held on, her body aching and her genitals pulsating.

Then Phoebus took another box, and kneeled before the woman to put lovely pearl-embroidered shoes on her feet. They were amazingly comfortable.

As if reading her thoughts, he said, raising his face to look her in the eyes:

"These are dancing shoes from a famous master, you will not even notice them on your feet."

Akasha almost couldn't hear him at this point; all she was feeling were his warm palms on her ankles, and his face so close to her crotch that she could feel his breath on it.

She bit her lip harder still, feeling her body become like water.

She could barely stand. It was probably one of very rare times when she was driven to such madness. The man was seducing her so skillfully that she felt herself totally defenseless. And for a woman who always had to take care not only of herself, but of so many other people, such treatment was a completely unexpected and absolutely priceless gift.

She opened her mouth to speak, but again, as if reading her mind, the man said in his beautiful slightly husky baritone:

"Don't plead. I forbid you."

She moaned, rolling her head up, her body making involuntary moves.

"My poor girl," he whispered, getting up from his knees very close to her and helping her put on the pannier construct for holding the skirt of the dress in shape.

Finally, he took the gorgeous dress, and put on the woman, first, the petticoat, and then the open robe.

As he helped her put the dress on, Akasha was now breathing heavily, the odor of his body so close, maddening.

So when she felt the robe finally arranged on her, she felt the man lightly brushing her skin with his fingers and shivered with excitement.

She moaned when he planted a light kiss on her neck and raised her arms to embrace his head from behind.

Promises or no promises, she turned her head to find his lips and trepidated from head to toe, feeling his arms sliding down her bodice.

But then he stepped outside her reach and cleared his throat.

"I am sorry, that was improper."

In a split second, Akasha turned to face him.

The man was standing there and trying to efface the sly grin from his face.

The woman, half-furious, half-mad with desire, lowered her gaze to see his crotch.

"I'm calling your bluff," she announced triumphantly, staring at him.

Phoebus's eyes twinkled with joviality.

He shrugged his shoulders.

"I'm a man. Such things happen to us from time to time. I beg your pardon, ma'am."

Half-laughing, half-frowning, Akasha exclaimed:

"You are intolerable!"

He politely bowed and replied:

"I'm sorry if I am, ma'am."

The woman winced.

"Stop it!"

And she turned away, trying to get hold of her emotions.

In a few moments, she felt her hair being carefully combed and turned again to face the man.

This time she did not let him move away and started kissing him on the mouth, cheeks and throat, caressing his hips, thighs and his codpiece. She could tell he had a hard-on of her dreams.

The man moaned and grabbed her into his arms.

Feeling her mad passion, Phoebus cursed under his breath, pushed the woman onto the bed, threw away his jacket, pulled up her skirts, ripped her delicate panties and entered her with a grunt.

She cried out, seized his head and kissed him on the mouth. He started banging her so hard that the bed under them barely held.

His kiss was so deep that his tongue almost reached her glands, but it was what she wanted, and she sucked at his tongue as hard as if she wanted to suck it out of his mouth.

They did not hold long, and it was very violent.

Bruised, bitten and scratched but very happy, they lay afterwards side by side, panting and wheezing.

"I thought I'd kill you," he murmured, kissing her shoulder.

"And I almost bit off your tongue," she purred.

Phoebus hummed and removed his soaked waistcoat. Laid back and sighed with relief.

"No more panties for you, dear lady," he laughed, stroking her cheek. "Waste of money."

Akasha laughed tiredly.

"Oh, it was all your doing…"

He laughed with her then mused aloud:

"I was wondering how long you'd be able to resist…"

"So this was an experiment?"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"I was experimenting with myself as well. After all, when I was supervising your healing, we've slept together all those nights without having sex…"

Akasha giggled.

"You're an animal! I was injured! How could've you?"

"Gently."

"An animal, as I said."

"Will you adopt me then?"

"Never."

He rolled to his side, propped his fist under his head and looked at the woman.

"Why not?"

Akasha hugged him by the neck and kissed him on the lips.

"You are too…" but she got distracted, kissing him again.

"What, you cannot invent a convenient reason?" he grinned between kisses.

"Wait, I will find one…"

They kissed for a few more minutes, then Phoebus sat in bed, coughed a few times and clapped his hands.

A house elf entered soon afterwards, her face completely neutral.

"Has my cousin Emily arrived yet?"

The elf nodded gravely.

"Yes, messere."

Phoebus stood up.

"Excellent. Now, find me another shirt and a matching waistcoat and help my friend tidy up her dress."

He kissed the woman on her cheek and said to her:

"I'll be back in a few minutes, my love."

And he went looking for his cousin.

Emily lit up, seeing her cousin.

"Ah, there you are, my naughty Ganymede! I had to bargain with an Antivan for this thing!" she tapped on a big round cardboard box sitting near her on the sofa. "But I must tell you, it's splendid. It will become the new fashion at the court. You've always had an excellent taste, fair Ganymede."

Phoebus smiled at her, kissed her on the cheek affectionately and took the box.

"Thanks, Lil. How about we drink some sparkles together in half-hour?"

She smiled a foxy smile, very similar to his own.

"Of course. Will you introduce us?"

"Of course."

As he was on his way out of the room, he picked a pink flower from the bouquet in the vase, winked at his cousin and left.

When he returned to the bedroom, Akasha was fully dressed again and sitting near the vanity table, where the house elf was making her hair.

His new clothes were neatly arranged on top of a chair.

Phoebus glanced at the progressing hairdo, assessed the time needed for its completion and set to wash himself and change clothes.

Then the house elf stepped aside, and lord Trevelyan nodded to her, permitting to leave.

He stepped behind Akasha and evaluated how she looked in the mirror.

"Now the final accord," he smiled, took out a small flat box out of his jacket and carefully put a sparkling necklace on her throat.

She stirred.

"Weisshaupt rainbow diamonds?..."

He shrugged his shoulders.

"Why not? I thought it would be fetching a Grey Warden who stopped the blight, who saved the Titan and a heck of a lot of people at the barrows. Things you did will never match a few stones, and surely these shiny baubles cannot be of any use in a real situation out there…"

He kissed her on the back of her hand and put a matching bracelet on her wrist.

Then he sat on another chair behind her and grinned at her through the mirror.

"And now, to complete the disguise…"

From the box that he had brought from his cousin, he retrieved an astonishing hairdress made of bright blue-green feathers with small turquoise stones, rubies and gold wire forming a majestic tiara.

Akasha exhaled in sheer wonder, then hurriedly put on her mask and waited for the man to put this incredible structure on her head.

It perfectly matched several patterns of embroidery on the dress and thus wonderfully completed the image.

Akasha was looking at herself in the mirror, trying to get used to such splendor, and Phoebus, happily grinning, took a small ornate bottle from the table and put a few drops of perfume behind the woman's ears, drew a line on her neck with the bottle stopper, and, to finish the gesture, kissed the woman in the throat.

The woman, smiling shyly, looked at him.

"I… I don't know what to say…" she was feeling… unusual.

The man shrugged his shoulders and smiled.

"Say whatever you want, because I did what I wanted to do from the very start. I did not plan to have sex though, but I underestimated the effect of your beauty on me..." he paused to kiss her behind the ear, "and the beautiful settings on both of us. I guess we spend so much time out there in the dirt, the rain, and the muck, that these silly little things become… well, pleasant."

He took the flower he had brought from the other room and gave it to Akasha.

"I cannot say how precious is our acquaintance to me. So I'm sorry if I spoil this day to you but…" he grinned involuntarily, his usual mischievous self notwithstanding the serious tone he had taken, "I had no plans on banging you in the streets… unless you want it… badly…"

They laughed, hugged and kissed.

"Please tell me I'll not have to dance at the ball," she mumbled, kissing the man.

He looked at her.

"Seriously? Usually, that's a man's plaint. I promise there will be lots of fun. Because I offer you to break every rule there is about dancing. We will just dance as our bodies lead us. It will be beautiful and amazing, just trust me to lead, and dance like you make love, with no boundaries, with no self. I trust you to make it right."

He kissed her and led out into a guestroom, where a table waited for them set with fruit, sweets and sparkling wine.

"Please invite in my cousin Emily," he said to the attending elf and brought his lover to a nearby sofa.

A perky young woman entered the cadre and smiled at them, her eyes curiously darting at Akasha.

"Oh my," she said, "What a splendid sight to behold! Ah, my naughty Ganymede, you've surpassed yourself, this is a piece of art, not just a human being!"

Phoebus grinned at her and offered her his hand.

"Please let me introduce you my cousin Emily, my first love. Emily, this is Akasha, the light of my eyes."

Emily curtsied and grinned to both of them.

"Don't you start hating him when he acts like this, larger than life?" Emily asked Akasha, giggling.

Akasha smiled.

"You've got the same smile, and very similar eyes. You are so beautiful, Emily."

The cousin darted her gaze at the man and grinned again.

"And she's smart too! You are definitely the black sheep of the family, bro!"

Phoebus shrugged, filling glasses with wine.

"I prefer the white crow analogy."

Emily shrugged her shoulders in much the same way as he did.

"Definitely. But with your high-mountain tan you **_are_** becoming a black sheep!... Not that it looks bad on you, Ganymede…"

The man offered the ladies their glasses and poured himself a glass.

"I've always found your candor refreshing," he smiled at his cousin.

Akasha cocked her head and asked:

"Why Ganymede?"

Phoebus wrinkled his nose and cast a meaningful glance at his cousin.

Emily shrugged her elegant shoulders.

"Oh, just a story I read a while back in an old book, where Ganymede was this handsome youth that attracted the graces of old gods and was taken to the Golden City alive on the wings of a griffin... Turns out prophetic in the light of my dear cousin's trips to the Fade..."

The Trevelyan winced and shook his head.

"Considering the fact that it was a god, and not a goddess, who took a liking of the youth, I doubt it was just about taking him to the Golden City..."

His cousin fended that off:

"I was in love then, I read about a handsome youth and I dreamed of stealing you from your old manor..."

She took a healthy swig of the drink and looked curiously at Phoebus's companion again.

"Knowing this Architect of Happenings, I bet you will play an astounding role in his piece tonight… Wait… Let me guess… Ah, of course! There is his favorite sextet playing tonight… Oh, my Maker! This must be something grand!"

Phoebus laughed.

"Fun-spoiler!"

His cousin shook her head.

"Oh, no-no-no! Never! I remember you saying that 'it's always good to have a good contact with the crew…' And you've spent with those artists, like, a few years, right?"

Phoebus drank his glass and squeezed Emily in a brotherly hug.

"Don't you start spoiling our evening, Pigtails! Better watch out for the main hall…"

The cousin winked at Akasha and said:

“Of course, I'll be there, the best guys go that way, always!”

“Pigtails, you're married!”

“HA-HA! Like you aren't!”

Phoebus frowned and looked at her in the face.

“Not funny. Start spilling your beans, Pigtails.”

She shrugged and went to sit on a sofa.

“Don't tell me your diplomats didn't tell you about your fiançailles with Rosanda Perciwool, niece to the Duke Almond of Bashville?”

Phoebus frowned, annoyed.

“I did tell my ambassador to ditch that stupid piece of misunderstanding.”

His cousin shrugged, sipped her wine and rolled her eyes.

“Well, apparently you should fire her. Not that I insist, but if you said ‘Fuck it’ like you usually do, and she instead writes to us ‘thank you for notifying us’ that's a friggin' distortion of meaning. Anyway, now your fiançailles are at a very advanced stage, sorry to spoil the mood here, but it was your ambassador who farted.”

Phoebus grew dark, thought it over for a couple of minutes and asked his cousin:

“How far advanced?”

Emily shrugged her bony shoulders and screwed a face.

“Like, very much advanced. To the point they were ready to sign treaties last Saturday when I left the Free Marches.”

The Inquisitor grew angry and smashed his glass on the floor.

“Damn it!”

Emily sighed with sympathy.

“Well, that's not better that my marriage…”

‘I'm not a girl to be given away!” the tone of his voice indicated a serious degree of rage.

His cousin evaluated him at a glance and, having rolled her eyes defiantly, stood up from the sofa, her hands flared to the sides, and said:

“Oh, so now you are pissed-off. And when they gave me away to this old fart you just sat there and held my hand. Want me to do the same?”

Phoebus, his lips twisted, shook his head negatively.

“No.”

He paused, taking a hold on his anger, said:

“That's my fault, I didn't follow through. I knew my parents better than my ambassador…”

Then his entire figure transformed, he grew calmer and straightened himself.

“Thanks for telling me, Lil. Now let's go to that ball and kill the floor.”

The musicians could be found at a balcony that opened to the main hall, as was customary. Phoebus greeted them by hugging each man, introduced them to Akasha and promised them a show.

“Watch the floor,” he winked at them and, having made another round of shaking hands and exchanging smiles, guided his charge to intermingle with courtiers until the main event commenced.

After an hour of overtures and other light music, Phoebus raised his finger.

“Hear that violin? We have to go to the floor…” and he dragged his friend through the crowd, and took her into the group of dancers.

A single violin began its tale of woe, and Phoebus brought Akasha to the very center of the hall, and began moving to the sounds of the instrument. Taken with his free-flowing motions, the woman dropped all the learned pas from minuets and other dances she had ever learned early on, and started to take the music as an expression of her form.

From the distance, it looked amazing. Emily was watching them with a big grin on her contented face. Sometimes she grabbed some passing courtier and, pointing at Phoebus and Akasha, yelled in their ear: "That's my brother dancing!"

Many of the courtiers she had grabbed, stayed to watch further.

The musicians quickly understood that the performance began, and the event transformed into a playful dialogue between dancers and musicians.

The dancers had the perfect command of their strong bodies, and they moved as if it were the musicians who made them stand on their tiptoes, or jump, or nearly fall to the floor. And at the same time, they were telling their own story. In swirls, in eloquent gestures, in the ways they interacted with each other.

It was mesmerizing. A play of sounds, emotions, movements.

During a dynamic part of the concert Phoebus sent Akasha swirling between his legs, and that drew a gasp from the crowd, because the majority grew attached to this beautiful exotic bird that so languidly moved in her partner's strong arms. But it was such a matter of unparalleled mutual trust that people just caught their breaths and kept on watching.

But, having flown parallel to the floor between his thighs, the splendid bird stood proud, her partner made a surprised face, and they spun to the vibrant sounds of the violoncello again.

For a full hour, they danced, forgetting everything except the guiding sounds that filled their whole space.

And the majority present there just watched them, stupefied by the raw emotions, the passionate stories, the improvisations, and the whole new perspective of the dance, caught in a whirlwind of music.

When the concert ended, and the dancers stopped, as if petrified and glued to the spot, the courtiers broke into applaud and tears, yells of "Bravo!" and "Splendid!"

Phoebus smiled tiredly at Akasha, bowed to her as one would bow to a Queen, then kissed her hand, and never releasing it turned to salute his buddies the musicians.

They waved each other warmly, bowed to each other, and turned to the public to thank it for the appreciation.

An elderly woman in a golden mask and a blue dress made her way to them.

All present bowed before her. For she was the Empress.

She smiled benevolently at the two dancers, and said:

“You've amused us mightily tonight. This event has transformed into a tribute to high art and love shining on us all. And we thank you for this beautiful praise to human nature and its grace. Absolutely outstanding and unique. May we know the names of our benefactors of tonight?”

Phoebus nodded, bowed deeply to the Empress and waived toward the musicians' balcony.

“Your Majesty, please let me introduce you Luka, Stephan, and Sawl Kranachs, as well as Boitko, Oran and Eliot, whose souls you've heard tonight. Their beautiful music made all this happen. As to the dancers, we are just fragments of their magic.”

He bowed again very politely, so did Akasha.

A refusal in such a polite form made it impossible for the Empress to learn right away of their identities, so she smiled graciously and inclined her head benevolently:

“So be it. Your performance will stay in our hearts and will surely benefit the development of our imperial culture. May we invite you to our little party over there?”

She indicated a lavish table set in the focal point of the hall for a party of two dozen elite nobles.

Phoebus bowed again and said politely:

“We are immensely grateful for your invitation, your Majesty, but I'm afraid we're no match for your distinguished guests…”

The Empress waived her hand dismissively and exclaimed:

‘Nonsense! You must be thirsty, and we have excellent refreshments there.”

The Trevelyan did not find how to protest that, so he bowed, took Akasha by the hand and followed the Empress to her retinue's table.

The Empress neared the table. Smiling.

“Look who we have here,” she said with a tone of voice that suggested enthusiasm. “These two magicians, who have entertained us this evening, are too shy to introduce themselves. Maybe we can help them?” she said in a light tone as if she offered to play forfeits.

A man in a silver mask took a round around their guests and said:

“Not only the latest Orlesian fashion and wealth, but also a lively mind and a penchant toward extravagance. A challenge to society.”

The Empress smiled and nodded. Then asked:

“Any other ideas?”

“A show-off,” launched a man in a blue mask. “Who doesn't care about his riches. Or makes a show of it. Weisshaupt diamonds! One must be either your Majesty or terminally ill to afford them. A custom-made feather headdress, extensive travel and knowledge of various primitive cultures. A challenge to society. Supported. Woman definitely not a noble judging by her developed physical attributes. Of no consequence.”

A woman in black-purple dress stood up.

“A man and a woman of extraordinary fates meeting here in Val Royeaux. An incomparable and remarkable luck to us, your Majesty.”

Phoebus sighed and poured two glasses of lemonade. Gave one to Akasha and took a sip from the other.

Shrugged his shoulders.

“And there I was, just having fun!... Mmmmm, your lemonade is so sweet, your Majesty, some cook must've fallen in love. Please allow me to dissipate your illusions, my liege, and introduce myself. My family is that of Trevelyans of the Free Marches, my liege, you must've heard of us quite frequently this last time, and my partner is my beloved fiancée, who happens to share my eccentricities. I happen to love music, that's why I know personally the musicians that gave that feast to your ears tonight… If you don't believe just fetch me a violin or a hurdy-gurdy, doesn't matter…”

The Empress smiled sweetly and made a gesture. A guard went out of sight.

“So, the Trevelyans' fortune is as large as they say?” she asked in a social manner, implying that the family was not rich enough to afford the Weisshaupt diamonds.

Phoebus grinned. The Orlesians had no idea of how rich some Free Marchers could be. But he was not inclined to dissuade them and said lightly:

“I traveled a lot, I've made a few connections…”

The guard returned with one of the musicians, who was holding an elegant brazzo in his hand.

The musician shrugged apologetically to the Trevelyan and offered him the instrument.

Phoebus sighed, took it, and adjusted the viola to his jaw.

Looked questioningly at the musician, who told him quietly:

“The Cannon…”

Phoebus nodded and took a few probative notes, then extracted a few charming accords from the instrument.

The musician nodded and gestured him to continue.

The middle pitch of the brazzo sounded almost like a human voice, Phoebus played a tune of so much grace and harmony, that all present listened almost beyond themselves.

The musician was nodding and gesturing, supporting the player, and Phoebus was watching carefully for his cues. When the melody ended, Phoebus and the musician bowed to the Empress, and the monarch said:

“I apologize for questioning you, ser Trevelyan. But you must understand our curiosity.”

The man bowed to her.

“Of course, your Majesty.”

Then he turned to the musician.

“So how was it, Stephan?”

The musician shook his head.

“You don't practice and ask me how it sounds. Your grip is too tight, which is not surprising considering that you didn't condescend to take off your gloves, and it also made your accords clumsy… The only thing you get right is the intervals… Your intervals are always good, but your technique suffers. Practice makes it perfect, you know…”

Phoebus nodded, hugged Stephan, patted him on his back cordially, thanked him and gave him back the violin.

The Empress nodded to the musician and asked:

“Do you know him?”

The man bowed low.

“Indeed, your Majesty. He is indeed a Trevelyan.”

“But how can you be so sure? He's wearing a mask, after all!”

Stephan smiled.

“I'm a musician, your Majesty. I have a good ear for voices, and his way to play is unmistakable.”

She smiled, nodded and let him go. But as soon as he left, she addressed her guest:

“You **_must_** tell us all about your travels…”

Several hours later, the Inquisitor found his bird of paradise in the company of courtiers. The air was charged with lust, the men trying to outsmart one another to the delight of the feathered dancer.

Phoebus broadly grinned to the crowd, excused himself and whispered into the woman's ear:

“Do you want to be left with your admirers or you want me to take you somewhere else?”

She looked at him quizzically.

“Be more specific,” she mouthed.

“I want to go to my musical buddies…”

She thought it over, then said, smiling broadly:

“Out! Now!”

The handsome devil grinned and promptly dragged his companion out of the crowd.

“…These peasant Free Marchers think they can behave here as barbarically as in their own steppes…”

“…He demeans the title of a noble…”

“…Oh, but his dance was so… stimulating…”

“…He is a scandal…”

“…I do hope he gets invited to the next ball…”

“…They say his brother made quite an appearance at the Night of the Opera…”

“…It's in the blood…”

“…If so, I can't wait to see their whole family in Val Royeaux…”

“…That would be too much…”

“…They say their parents are regular peasant bores…”

“…Speak of the blood…”

“…But the brothers are quite flamboyant…”

“…Their cousin is quite frisky if you know what I mean…”

“…You don't say…”

“They say she was the mistress of the count of Valmont, then of the marquis de Mincourt, and now she's on the lookout…”

“…Isn't she married...?”

“…Aren't we all...?”

Akasha finally got bored and stood up from the sofa that faced the window and thus had shielded her from any stares.

The gossipers, seeing her rise from an unexpected place, shut up and gawked at her, frozen.

She yawned, tidied up her dress and went to find the Inquisitor.

The latter was deep in a heated argument with his musician buddy.

Seeing her, he sighed in relief.

“There you are!”

Akasha winced:

“Still fighting, ladies? I was hoping that you would end your bickering by the time I return from the restroom…”

His buddy Stephan shrugged his shoulders.

“The man fails to see reason!”

Akasha sighed and cast a meaningful glance at the Inquisitor.

“You still didn't tell him?”

“Tell me what?” stirred the musician.

Phoebus shook his head.

“Not here.”

The woman smirked.

“Oh so it's better to kill time just arguing over nothing!”

Phoebus groaned in exasperation, removed his gloves and silently showed his buddy a patch glued to his left palm.

Stephan stared at it, uncomprehending.

Akasha carelessly overturned a sand hourglass that stood on the mantel, and it crashed on the floor.

“Oh, I'm so clumsy!” she exclaimed and squatted beside the remains of the device on the floor.

Then she brushed aside pieces of glass, straightened the sand on the tiles and wrote in it: " _Not here_ ".

The musician squinted at the patch suspiciously and shrugged his shoulders, accepting the friend's secret.

Akasha thoroughly scattered the sand and stood up.

The musician gave the brazzo to Phoebus and insisted:

“Now try again!”

Trevelyan sighed and took the instrument.

In a few minutes into his play, Stephan dragged Akasha out of the Inquisitor's earshot and told her:

“Actually, I really like his playing. It seems so different from the other interpretations of the same things, it's so much more legato [smooth] and passionate – very colorful. But I cannot tell that to him, for he needs practice!”

Akasha listened to Phoebus play, then told Stephan:

“He plays music like he plays his life, and it streams through his sounds.”

The musician looked at the woman with admiration. Then he bowed low and kissed her hand.

“It is so well said, that I can only shut up.”

They both listened to the brazzo play, spellbound.

**-O-**

He was continuing the endless climb, but after a brief respite he started grumbling:

“Rich, they say… Spoilt, they say… Too handsome for their liking, they say!... Damn it! For the sixth hour straight I keep asking myself… How the hell does it help me… Here of all places… To close that fuckin' rift that's just spewing demons on top of one of the highest peaks in the vicinity…!”

His crew was listening silently to his complaints, all of them just too tired at this point and too concentrated on their climbing. But silently, they agreed with the man – no amount of titles, or riches or any other social benefits mattered here, where everything was about sharp wits, strong and dexterous body, a good eye, sturdy enough armor and sheer dumb luck.

**-O-**

It was light enough, but still too early for the sunrise.

The sturdy horse kept quiet while the man was saddling it.

Phoebus put a few ration bags across the saddle, a couple warm furs, attached his weapons and jumped onto his mount.

The business was private, and he didn't want people to talk about it.

Of course, Leliana would know, but that was her job, and all the others… well, his spymaster would tell them on a need-to-know basis.

As to his precious lover… He would want to take her with him but she was still somewhere out there hunting, and he could not wait any longer to deal with the chore.

A few hours into his descent from the mountain, out in the morning mist, he saw a gnarled tree and a crow perched on it. When the rider approached the tree, the crow cawed a few times and ruffled its feathers.

Phoebus stopped his mount and looked thoughtfully at the crow.

“Crooked crows on cawing trees…” he mumbled, frowning.

The trail looked barely familiar in the mist, and he could not remember any such trees on his usual way down.

Try as hard as he would, he could not discern anything out of the ordinary about the bird on an old tree. And yet…

Long ago, he got used to trusting his instincts, and now all his feelings told him that the space he was now in was very particular. It was much denser than the usual air in the mountains, and the mist was… as if anything could come out of it…

Phoebus took his bow and put on the string. Then let his horse quietly follow the trail and put an arrow onto his bow. He had the feeling that he was being watched, and not just by the wretched bird.

Someone was present here, and this someone was observing the Inquisitor, studying him, exploring.

Trevelyan, never ceasing to observe the surroundings, carefully fixed the arrow on the bow with his finger, and even more carefully squeezed his free hand into the leather purse hanging at his belt.

He took out a bit of powdered chalk, and a fragment of paper fell out of the purse.

The one with a copy of the arms master's seal on it.

As soon as the paper touched the ground, a gust of wind blew away the mist and the eerie sensation was gone along with it.

Phoebus blinked a few times and turned to check on the tree.

It was still there, no sign of the bird. Just an old husk with a few green sprouts jutting out of the old trunk.

The paper got stuck in its gnarled roots.

The man turned the horse, neared the tree, dismounted and picked up the fragment. Studied it. The same crudely drawn dancing animal with a long tail.

He looked at the tree. Nothing to it. Just an old tree.

“Strange,” he mumbled, putting the drawing carefully back into the purse.

Then he returned to his mount and resumed his journey, deeply in thought.

The journey was long, and the man grew more and more apprehensive of the things he might find upon his arrival at the destination.

The ship ran swiftly on the tumultuous waves for a few days until the massive harbor came into view and started to grow more and more impressive and intimidating in the travelers' field of view.

The Inquisitor's powerful Qunari stallion neighed happily as his hooves finally touched solid ground again.

The man mounted his faithful horse and started to circle the city to reach a particular mainland road leading north.

Another day's trip, and he saw the familiar gnarled tree with an old warning contraption of a wheel and druffalo skulls hanging on it.

He stopped momentarily near it, half-expecting something to happen, then cautiously moved into the territory.

He winced when he saw an approaching rider. He was definitely spotted by the old devil through his inseparable looking glass.

In about an hour, the two riders closed enough to be able to discern each other's features.

Phoebus slowed down, and the other rider stopped, waiting for the newcomer to get closer still. He was patiently chewing on a root and evaluating the guest.

When the Inquisitor approached close enough to be heard, he stopped his mighty Qunari horse Arvaraash and stared at the older rider with a neutral expression on his face.

The other man's gaze was as piercing as the Inquisitor's, even more so, and his wind-weathered features under the wide-brimmed hat had the same structure as the traveler's.

At last, he finished his unhurried examination and spat out the root. Then he nodded to the Inquisitor and said in a raucous drawling accent, his bright eyes trying to drill holes in the guest's face:

“Nice ride you've got there.”

Phoebus nodded.

Then said as unhurriedly:

“That I do.”

He let his words hang in the air carelessly, not trying to continue the conversation.

The older man studied him a bit longer then sniffed, turned his mount over, waived to the guest and, without checking out if the latter would follow, rode away down the road.

They arrived at the ancient manor without having exchanged a word.

The stable boy took the reins of their mounts and led the horses away, leaving the men standing in the courtyard.

In a few minutes, they heard a commotion, and an elegantly dressed woman hurried out of the main porch, accompanied by a younger generation.

She let out an excited exclamation and hugged Phoebus by the neck. All other people were happily grinning as they were waiting for their turns to greet the man.

The Inquisitor hugged girls, exchanged handshakes and patted boys' backs.

The overall greeting was rather reserved, a bit muted but very cordial.

The people led him inside the main building, then the oldest woman accompanied him to the second-floor room and turned to leave, but Phoebus stopped her.

“Mom, what can you tell me?”

She sighed and studied him much in the same way as had done his father before.

When they were standing close together in the same room, it became apparent that it was her beauty, her intelligence and her sensitivity that reflected in her son's face.

She sighed and lifted her brow in a defiant gesture.

“What's there to tell? The world goes on. Still...” she hesitated then added, “Thanks to you, I'm lead to believe.”

He shrugged.

“Bah, things people say...”

She looked at him.

“And what do **_you_** say?”

He shrugged again as he started taking off his dusty coat.

“A bit here, a bit there... The big rift was pretty bad though…”

The woman frowned.

“Then what they say is true – it nearly killed you?”

The man sighed and splashed some water from a metal basin onto his face.

“I'm still here, mom…”

His mother took a fresh towel and handed it to him.

“I don't suppose you came here just to see your family.”

Phoebus looked her in the eyes.

“You lot forced me to. Sadly, my ambassador doesn't know how to deal with Free Marchers.”

His mother nodded and moved to the door.

“The dinner is at seven, as usual, we can talk after that.”

Old sherry burned on his lips and in his throat, and warmth from the fireplace pleasantly heated his legs.

He was sitting in front of his father near the fireplace, the mother on a fancy banquette near the father, and the siblings occupying an assortment of chairs and puffs.

They all had a thousand questions in mind but it had to wait for later.

His father was unhurriedly smoking a pipe and staring into the fire, his weathered face neutral.

Now, it was expected of the guest to start the conversation.

Phoebus put his glass on the mantelpiece and said quietly:

“I will have to leave tomorrow morning. So now I will have to make sure that even if you do not support me, at least you do not prepare any more surprises for me.”

His father looked at him, took the pipe out of his mouth and asked in his raucous voice:

“Or what, you'll fry us with a thunderbolt like you mages do?”

Phoebus rolled his eyes, sighed and answered patiently:

“No. I will just put you in a very awkward position before the Duke Almond of Bashville.”

His father shook his head much in the same manner as his son did and exclaimed:

“Damn my son is a much bigger fool than I ever imagined! All this trip over a girl! You set aside all your military matters just to tell your old folk we did wrong by marrying you to the Duke's niece? All this when the Duke can support your army like no one else? His fleet could be at the Inquisition's disposal, as well as his coffers, and his grain, and his flocks. An army has to eat, you know!”

When Phoebus laughed, he couldn't keep derision from his voice.

“Don't tell me you did this for me! A mere fraction of what's stored in **_your_** coffers could support **_ten_** Inquisition armies!”

Sensing that the discussion was quickly getting out of hand, the mother intervened:

“This was the best solution of all! We got our lands back, which will allow all your sisters to have a decent dowry, and now you have the support of the whole Ostwick! Think about it!”

Phoebus sighed, trying to keep calm, and joined the tips of his fingers in front of him.

“Pray tell me, why me and not, say, Lucien?”

A redhead young man gingerly turned his head to his older brother.

The mother responded:

“Because he is no Inquisitor, and the Duke would not give you the same support, if it were your brother instead of you.”

Phoebus raised his brows and took his glass from the mantelpiece.

“And who concocted this brilliant plan, pray tell me?”

His parents did not answer, silently defending themselves and each other.

The Inquisitor tiredly rubbed his face and said in a businesslike tone:

“All right. So how do we fix this huge bunch of misunderstanding?”

A few people negatively shook their heads.

“There is no way,” someone murmured.

The father looked at his son, frowning, and grumbled:

“It must be mighty important to you if you made all this trip, for you have never objected before to anything involving sex.”

Phoebus nodded, took a sharp intake of air and said clearly:

“Yes, it's important now. Because I'm already married.”

His parents looked surprised, but the father got over it quickly and shrugged his shoulders.

“So what? Divorce her, that's all.”

The Inquisitor frowned.

“I – can't.”

The father's eyes narrowed in a well-concealed menace.

“You let your dick guide you again, as always. Marriage is not about feelings, it's about responsibility.”

Phoebus did not give in to the father's cold stare.

He nodded calmly.

“Exactly. And I'm acting responsibly.”

His mother gave him a tender look, but her words were consistent with his father's.

She spoke softly:

“Your father is right, Phoebus. Passion lives three years, as they say. Then you'll realize that there is another person lives beside you, and that this person is not your ideas about him... Her.”

The Inquisitor cast a piercing gaze at his mother, but her look was open and straight into his own eyes.

A wicked idea came to him, but he brushed it aside at first...

They really believed it was for the best and were prepared to fight it, tooth and nail…

Phoebus sighed and stood up.

“I did not come to negotiate. I'm sorry if I gave that impression. But I care for you and I understand that you are not prepared to yield; so if it would be easier for you to swallow, I'm ready to name as the cause for divorce that I'm into men.”

Someone squealed, his mother grabbed her chest and opened her mouth like a fish out of water, a cup fell to the floor and shattered in a loud clash.

The father narrowed his eyes trying to read the son's face.

But the Inquisitor spent enough time in Val Royeaux's salons playing Wicked Grace to be able to withstand his father's scrutiny.

The older man's grimace grew fierce.

“That's just one big steaming pile of bullshit! You've never been into men, you like pussies too much for that. I know you! You've slept with all our maids, peasants and our neighbors' daughters before you were out of your teens!”

Phoebus's eyes narrowed too.

“Yes, and you know me like you did know about my magical abilities!”

The mention of magic angered the old man, for he suddenly felt out of his depth.

But he tried to hold the blow.

“Maybe that's another of your lies!”

Phoebus's eyes flickered not in a good way.

“You don't want me to prove it, do you?”

The old man jutted his jaw.

“Oh, but I do want to see proof, Phoebus. Of everything.”

The Inquisitor shut his eyes and focused on his quiet breath. After a while, when his breath finally became even, he, never opening his eyes, made a gesture.

Dorian appeared out of thin air and said: "Ah, my love! You look so adorable in candlelight!"

And all present people saw the swarthy mage arduously kissing their Phoebus.

The Inquisitor made another gesture and dismissed the vision.

He opened his eyes to see disbelief and disgust showing on the faces of his family members. His siblings started to discuss something in whispers, the only word that could be discerned was "Ganymede..."

Phoebus said, his face stony:

“Tomorrow morning, before my departure to Skyhold, I will pay a visit to the Duke and explain to him the situation as delicately as possible.”

His father took a big swig of sherry, emptying his glass. Then he stood up and, without taking another look at his son, left the room.

His mother looked at him and suddenly smiled.

“She must be very special.”

Phoebus nodded.

“She is. I love her.”

His mother cast a sideward glance at her smaller children.

“Still, you shouldn't have resorted to... that...”

Phoebus frowned.

“Anything for a way out. This way at least, your honor is not tarnished, the girl's honor is unblemished, all blame is on me.”

His mother shook her head gravely and sighed:

“You are so wrong, my dear...”

All others, still in shock at what they saw, looked embarrassed and averted their eyes.

“So, I guess that's it. Good night,” said Phoebus, finished his glass and went to his room.

There, he hurriedly took off his clothes, as if they were sullying him, and stood naked in the center of the room, his head firmly gripped in his hands.

He had no illusion on the consequences of his actions, but it was still hard for him to digest.

“Damn it!” he swore under his breath, and he fell to the floor and began making a series of angry push-ups to get the nervous tension out of his system. Practically speaking, he did not lie to his family, but he still felt furious at being incapable of better defending his love, his family, and that poor innocent fiancée...

Half-hour later he was still agitated.

So, he put on his riding suit, took his trusty bow and went into the garden where he almost ran to its far end and found some old targets still propped against trees.

At first, arrows flew everywhere except for the straw rolls, but as the man's breath grew calmer and calmer, his shots became more precise and hit right in the middle of the targets.

A few hours passed before Phoebus could stop shooting, gather his ammunition and leave the place.

No one slept well at the manor that night. People had too much to digest, to think about, to adjust to the new circumstances... They had dumped something unwanted on one of their own, and now he unloaded his protest on them to deal with all the consequences...

Phoebus got up before dawn, packed, and silently left his family home…

He was already at the edge of the barley field, when the curtain in one window at the top floor of the manor moved.

Piercing old eyes followed the waning dot for some time, then the old man sighed, stepped back from the window and sighed "I just hope she's worth it," in his raucous voice.

**-O-**

Skyhold greeted the man as usual, with excited cries and general commotion.

The Trevelyan was grim and focused, and listened very attentively to all reports.

The day rolled in its course as usual at the times of the Inquisition leader's arrival.

No one asked him about his absence, and Phoebus presumed that his spymaster did her job well.

Later in the evening, he found time to climb to Leliana's perch in the tower and accosted her right away:

“I suppose you already know everything there is to know. And I thank you for covering for me. What's the fallout?”

His spymaster's eyes twinkled mysteriously, as she said in her deceptively angelic voice:

“None of major importance, your Worship. Your family has offered the Duke Almond of Bashville your brother Lucien as a consolation prize for his niece, which he gladly accepted; thanks to your negotiations with the Duke, we've got his full support of our troops and a huge discount on grain and meat. So, politically-wise, everything is well. You've become an even more controversial figure than ever, but that shouldn't surprise you, I suppose. Now your reputation may muddle things up for you in certain Val Royeaux houses, but again, I suppose, you can live with that. I haven't told Dorian anything yet. Knowing you, I thought you'd want to talk to him yourself.”

Phoebus nodded.

“Yes. I'd like to talk to him as soon as I can.”

His spymaster impassively shrugged her shoulders.

“He's in his room, reading Maleficarum Tatenonsis.”

The Inquisitor nodded.

“Thanks again, Leliana.”

She bowed curtly.

“Anything you need, your Worship.”

Phoebus made to leave the garret, but paused at the first step of the stairs.

“You did not say if my father excluded me from the family...”

Leliana shook her head.

“Nothing of the kind, your Worship.”

Phoebus frowned.

“Smart old geezer,” he murmured, hiding a grin, and went downstairs.

The mage was indeed reading in his room and practicing spells from the book.

When the Inquisitor came in, a huge blast of plasma nearly splattered into his face.

Dorian jumped up and rushed to Phoebus.

“I'm sorry, man! Didn't see you coming! So sorry!”

The Inquisitor laughed tiredly.

“What do I hear! You? Apologizing? Have I grown horns or something?”

The mage laughed with relief.

“No, no, man. Just... probably... happy to see you, that's all. It's been, what, three weeks, almost four, since you were gone...”

Phoebus nodded and his concerned expression made the mage a bit anxious.

“Why the wry face? Something happened, my friend?”

The Inquisitor sighed and licked his lips.

“I must apologize before you, Dorian.”

“For what?!” the mage made a gesture for the man to come inside and sit down on a chair.

The Inquisitor obeyed and looked the mage into his eyes.

“I've compromised you, my friend. I'm sorry. I had to improvise... I made them believe that I'm into men, and I showed your face to my family. So, if some of them come to Val Royeaux and see you there, they might... heck, I don't even know what they might do... Something offensive I suppose.”

Dorian sank into a seat like a sack of dough and stared at the man for some time...

The pause stretched into a very long one, when suddenly a mad, cheery light lit in the mage's eyes, and he suddenly burst into hysterical laughter.

Both men laughed for some time, hysterically, to the tears in their eyes, literally cracking down, until they were completely exhausted.

Huffing and puffing, and rubbing his eyes, Dorian pointed his finger at the Inquisitor and said in only a half-joking manner:

“Now you owe me big time, brother!”

Phoebus nodded.

“I know.”

Taking another pause to fully come to his senses, Dorian took a few papers from his desk and waived them like a fan.

Then he asked:

“So, what was the occasion, pray tell?”

Phoebus sighed.

“I had to veer out of an arranged marriage and give my relatives enough reason to officially remove me from the position of the groom without tarnishing their own and the girl's reputation.”

The mage shook his head.

“I understand why **_I_** refused to marry, but you, of all people? You don't even discriminate any women! Every time I see them around you, they melt like ice-cream on a hot tongue, and I start thinking that you could do them all...”

The Inquisitor paused, then looked into the mage's eyes and told him quietly:

“I found my woman. And I love her. I would do anything for her.”

Dorian's eyes reflected a wide range of emotions: from surprise to disbelief, to dawning realization, to sadness...

Then he lowered his head and mumbled:

“How cruel it is to hear the harsh truth after such a sweet lie...”

Phoebus nodded and got up.

He hesitated but said at last:

“I know that I owe you. So... if you need anything...”

The mage raised his head and his eyes had a little cruel expression to them.

“Why, I do have a need for at least a partial consolation prize...”

Phoebus involuntarily raised his brows.

“Wow, what a coincidence! My ex-wife also had her consolation prize...”

Dorian shrugged his shoulders, a manic look on his face.

“Then now it's my turn.”

The Inquisitor sighed.

“Do I at least have the right to a good night's sleep? I rode all night and it was the first day of my arrival, I don't have to explain to you what it's like.”

The mage smiled gleefully.

“You can sleep here, with me. I'll even make you a hot bath.”

Phoebus closed his eyes and slowly nodded. Jowls on his jaws tensed, but other than that, he remained mostly calm.

He allowed the mage to strip him of his clothes and thoroughly wash and massage him, and kiss and touch his body as much as the mage wanted.

Then he climbed into bed, endured some more petting, an unsuccessful attempt at a fellatio, and was finally left in peace to sleep.

First thing in the morning, he felt his hard-on sucked at.

Never opening his eyes, he let the pleasant feeling continue for some time, but soon, he started to yearn for tender boobies and sweet smell of a woman.

He tousled the hair of the person sucking him only to feel the coarse hair of Dorian under his fingers.

He moaned and began fantasizing about Akasha, her skin, her eyes, her breasts, her tummy, her perky ass, her rosy labia...

Dorian was now thoroughly licking the man's testicles, and even reaching for his anus with his arduous tongue, at the same time masturbating him.

Phoebus had to finally admit to himself that the mage was very skillful and that this was indeed arousing in some kinky way. It felt to him like a power play, a domination rather than pleasure.

So, the Trevelyan sighed, opened his eyes, pulled his torso up and muttered:

“All right, if that's what you wanted, I'll fuck you in your mouth.”

He roughly pulled the mage by the hair, gestured him to lie down face up, squeezed open his jaw and pushed his tool inside Dorian's mouth as deep as he dared to avoid the gag reflex.

Then he started moving, pushing, his eyes closed again, an almost painful expression on his face.

The mage under him was moaning ecstatically, masturbating with one hand and fondling his lover's genitals with the other.

After a while Phoebus came, extracted himself from the man's mouth, then, without looking at the mage, stood up, swept his cock clean with a towel, and said:

“I hope to never have to do this again,” and started quickly dressing.

Dorian, having licked the last of the man's cum from his lips, was lazily stroking his limp penis and smearing his semen over his belly.

“But we're a couple, remember?” he purred languorously, ravishing his lover with his lustful stare.

“Not ever,” cut off Phoebus, buttoning up his jacket. “And I do not wish to see you any time soon.”

The mage jumped up in bed, looking hurt.

“But your cover...” he blabbered, confused.

The Trevelyan finally met the man's eyes and said, pulling on his hessian boot:

“The story has already served its purpose, and I repaid you for the inconvenience as much as I could bear. So, there is no reason to continue this front anymore. And, frankly, I'll need a long pause before I want to see your face again. Yes, I used you, and, believe me, I regret it immensely. For many reasons. I'm sorry I hurt you. But now, I must go.”

And he went to the door, silently praying for the mage not to react in any wild way.

And, luckily, he closed the door just in time so as not to become a witness (and possibly the target) to the mage's dawning rage.

Having reached the Great Hall, Phoebus looked around.

Varric was idling in his strategically placed seat near the fireplace and observing the passers-by.

The Trevelyan hurriedly reached his pal and muttered urgently:

“If I don't find Akasha any time soon, I'll explode. Now tell me where she is.”

The dwarf assessed at a glance the state of the Inquisitor's distress and shrugged apologetically.

“Sorry, chum, she's been out all this time, some say she returned to Val Royeaux, but I doubt it, for she had trekking equipment with her, and she went on foot, not on a mount.”

Phoebus sighed in exasperation, and went outside, nervously looking around.

And, as luck would have it, he spotted a familiar figure walking from the lone tower toward the tavern.

The man rushed down the stairs and directly to the figure.

It was indeed her, and her face lit up when she saw him running to her.

The two hugged each other passionately, the man lifting her from the ground and burying his face in her hair.

“Mmmmmm, I've missed you so much!” he murmured, rubbing his face in her neck.

“Now I believe you,” she laughed, hugging his neck tightly. “I've missed you too.”

Suddenly, a cloud in the overcast sky parted enough to let through a single bright ray of sun that illuminated the whole plateau and made people blink and squint.

The couple laughed happily, basking in the golden rays.

Phoebus looked into Akasha's eyes and smiled:

“It's here so I could better see you,” and he started covering her face with kisses.

The woman was so happy that she didn't even bother to say anything. She was just enjoying the man's presence and his touches.

They stood there, in the middle of the courtyard, blissfully smiling and hugging each other, uncaring about their surroundings.

As people were passing by and greeting the Inquisitor, he just nodded to them, never letting his woman out of his grasp, and smiled at them acknowledging their presence.

The couple exuded such sheer happiness that it affected people around them – passers-by were smiling at them, feeling cleaner, nobler, grander, and left for their chores in uplifted spirits.

There were all sorts of sounds around them: the squealing of carts, mooing of druffalos, carpenters sawing wood and hammering planks, a thin sound of masons setting stones into clay mixture, the smith working the billows, clucking chicken, clanking tankards from the nearby tavern, occasional yells of a sergeant, banging metal on metal and soldiers' grunts... all this in a pool of warm sunlight and crisp mountain air.

They stood there, happily grinning to everything that surrounded them, to every smell and every sound.

It felt... good.

Josephine spotted the Inquisitor standing in the middle of the courtyard very close to someone she did not recognize right away.

So, she hurried down the stairs and called the man from afar:

“Your Worship! May I have a moment of your attention?”

The Inquisitor slowly turned to her, and she saw the face of his Orlesian whore from behind him.

It momentarily set the ambassador aback, but she quickly recovered and came closer.

The look on their faces was so... serene, that Josephine almost gasped. For such look was coveted for and dreamed of, and chased after by countless women and men since the dawn of time. It was pure love.

Of such depth and intensity that nothing impure stood a chance against it.

It did not incite jealousy, or lust, or anything mundane.

It let clearly see what's valuable and what is not.

And it felt like... a celebration. A glorious and timeless festival of Life.

The ambassador's eyes filled with tears.

“Excuse me, your Worship,” she uttered in almost a whisper. “I've interrupted you. I will find you later.”

But Phoebus kindly smiled at her, his clear eyes glowing in the sun, and asked her:

“What is it, Josie?”

It was such a tone that the woman's heart melted completely.

“It's silly, your Worship, really. I just didn't want to bring it up at the Council, because of its delicate nature...”

The man nodded.

“Go on.”

Josephine looked at Akasha and shook her head.

“I can see now that it's nonsense... I will find a way to appease the Duke...and the Chantry... and all the Andrasteans...”

The Inquisitor laughed and said:

“All right, you have my undivided attention. What is it all about?”

Josephine's eyes flicked again to Akasha, as if she feared that this conversation could hurt the Inquisitor's lover. Then she spoke in a hushed voice:

“After your rather loud coming-out at the Free Marches, it caused a quite large tumult in the ranks of our followers, I've been approached by the Duke of Bashville's representative, who asked me to verify the information. Of course, you've made such a claim that, true or not, would effectively cancel all prospects of your marriage to the Bashville heiress, but the Duke has granted us unprecedented support and he wants the truth.”

Phoebus sighed heavily, glanced at his lover.

Akasha arched her brow and smiled:

“What have you done this time?”

He shook his head.

“Nothing drastic. Now, let's move to a quieter place.”

The three of them entered the ambassador's cabinet, where Phoebus began talking as soon as they closed the door:

“To begin with, I need you to understand that our Free Marchers' ways are different from the Orlesian Game in many aspects. Honor of the house is of paramount importance to us. During my visit to the Duke, I told him right away that I would cancel my marriage with his niece in any case, so it was up to him to decide which way he would choose. In order to provide a plausible reason for the divorce, I offered to make it known that I'm into men, for Free Marchers do not count other women as reasons enough to disrupt such important alliances. If I were to come out in this way, my family would denounce me, and I would be the only one left to blame. We had an... interesting conversation then, for he is a smart man and a worthy opponent... I don't know what went wrong, but my family did not condemn me, so the Duke had to send an emissary for a formal verification. It will not affect his support because this is business, and I offered him a sweet deal. So please indulge his representative and tell him that I am indeed in a relationship with a man, this will be of no consequence.”

While Josephine processed the information, Akasha frowned and asked him:

“But why would you lay the blame on yourself? Why do such a thing at all?”

Phoebus looked at her and said after a momentary hesitation:

“Because I couldn't marry that girl.”

Akasha shook her head, evidently still not quite catching his reasoning.

“But this marriage is just a political thing, right?”

The Inquisitor grew dark.

“No, it is not. I'm not averse to political compromises but no one will tell me what to do with my personal life.”

Akasha laughed lightly and stroked his cheek.

“Ah, of course.”

And she acted like the matter was closed for her. She started to move along a wall studying paintings and allowing the Inquisitor and his ambassador to talk out the details.

The bell tolled seven, and the Inquisitor raised his head.

“It's time for the Council. Akasha, I want to ask you to join me there, as your expertise can prove invaluable to us.”

She shrugged her shoulders and nodded, while Josephine's brows shot up in surprise.

They moved to the Council room, where Akasha took a scope of the situation just by glancing at the map and said:

“You should install an early warning system here, here and here. There are old towers in these locations and they are placed in a way that each or them is within clear sight of at least two others. You should restore them. Their weakest point is supply routes that could be cut off at any time. That is why I would suggest bringing into each tower a garrison of dead soldiers and have them animated by a necromancer. You do have a necromancer here, right?”

She looked at people and by their uneasy looks she understood that something was wrong.

The Inquisitor explained, scowling:

“Well, we have Dorian, and he is my presumed... heck... I don't even know what to call him... Spouse?”

Unperturbed, Akasha nodded.

“I'll talk to him, if necessary. The job must be done thoroughly, so dispatch another mage with him to place anti-dispel wards around towers. And I think it might work just right.”

Almost contrary to themselves, the members started developing the idea and discussing the details.

Akasha answered their questions displaying such level of competence that it became evident that her trips into the mountains hadn't been mere hunting excursions.

She also made a few meaningful suggestions on their other operations, and, by the end of the evening, she became a highly-respected councilor on their team.

When the bell tolled midnight, the Inquisitor stretched and called it a night.

The advisors started dissipating, still discussing affairs.

“It went rather well,” he smiled to the woman and kissed her hand as they were leaving the room.

Akasha nodded, and said thoughtfully:

“This Cullen seems familiar to me... When we had that game party, it nagged at me, and now it nags even more...”

“He is originally a templar from Ferelden...” explained Phoebus, and his lover exclaimed:

“Ah, just so! He was that young templar who survived an infestation of abominations in the Kinloch Hold Circle Tower! Poor lad... Heard he had a mental breakdown after what Uldred did to him... Probably that's why he doesn't remember me.”

Phoebus shot her a sideward glance.

“I hope this old story will not prevent you from attending our Council again?”

She giggled.

“Of course not! Otherwise, you kids will have big trouble on your hands one day!”

The Trevelyan took her hand, kissed it, and, never letting go, led the woman toward his quarters.

The woman arched her brow but did not voice any objection.

When they were ascending the staircase, she nevertheless clarified half-jokingly:

“I hope you realize that you cannot marry a married woman?”

Phoebus silently nodded and made no other comment on the matter.

The Inquisitor and Solas were standing on a remote rampart overseeing the majestic ridge that surrounded Skyhold.

Phoebus used to enjoy the company of the brooding elf, him being one of few people of any depth in his entourage.

The morning was clear and crisp, and very much suitable for a stroll in a nice company.

“I saw your friend leave this morning in the company of the man Blackwall… they seemed to go scouting…” said the elf in his usual unhurried manner, typically starting his conversation from afar.

Phoebus nodded, unperturbed. A cloud of warm air escaped his lips, as at this altitude the hot springs that were heating the grounds of Skyhold could not reach the topmost parts of the ramparts leaving them at the mercy of biting winds of the high mountains.

“Yes, she likes to stay busy,” the Inquisitor acquiesced indolently, his gaze never leaving the beautiful mountainscape.

Solas nodded, pensively.

“Remarkable woman she is, your Akasha…”

They walked a few more yards before the elf chose to continue.

“She’s shown wisdom I have not seen since… since my deepest journeys into the ancient memories of the Fade…”

The Inquisitor listened to him without any reaction, just acknowledging his companion’s words.

Solas went on:

“It is as if she remembers herself from the beginning of time… Amazing, really. And this fact made me look at **_you_** more closely, my friend.”

Phoebus cast a quizzical sideward glance at the elf but, again, said nothing.

Solas finally came to the question he was meaning to pose all this morning:

“What were you like before the Anchor? Has it affected you, changed you in any way? You mind, your morals, your… spirit?”

The Inquisitor smiled at the elf gratefully.

“I always enjoy your questions. They are always interesting… It did affect me greatly, but mostly indirectly, largely not due to its inherent properties. But speaking of its own impact, I would say that I rather liked discovering a new dimension of me, glowing on my hand. It’s intriguing, fascinating, interesting… A shame I need to get rid of it before I can study it in more detail… And I would certainly like to use it again for physically entering the Fade… preferably in your company, Solas.”

The elf smiled contentedly, and inclined his head, consenting to the proposal.

“You are not what I expected,” he said thoughtfully, looking straight ahead of him.

Phoebus gave out a short laugh.

“Sorry to disappoint.”

Solas shook his bald head.

“Nothing like that. Most people are predictable, but you… although you display your individuality (and a bright one at that), you show unparalleled subtlety in your actions or inactions, a wisdom, similar to Akasha’s, that goes against everything I have ever witnessed. It’s like you are of some other than human breed…”

Phoebus laughed cheerfully.

“Why, for that, we’d have to ask my mom… As for Akasha, the only thing I can think of is her upbringing with some Chasind wise man…”

Solas’s eyes flickered with live interest.

“A Chasind you say, and a wise man to boot… How curious…”

He did not speak another word for the rest of their tour of the ramparts, but the Inquisitor could be sure that the elf would now be spending days if not weeks studying Akasha from afar before deciding to accost her with another round of his questions.

The events rolled in their course washing out men’s minor feuds and conflicts, the need to do a common job put aside personal likes and dislikes and brought forth efficiency and expediency for the business at hand.

Albeit a bit awkwardly at first, Dorian was gradually reintroduced to the Inquisitor’s inner circle, and soon no one even remembered the reason of the mage’s absence.

The Inquisitor never displayed any dislike for the mage, sparing no energy on emotions, constantly preoccupied with current affairs and his advisors’ incessant stream of letters, memos and other information. These days he would say: “Emotions are a luxury,” shrugging his massive shoulders, and go on another errand. The Skyhold occupants got used to the sight of a gloomy, tall, broad-shouldered figure of the Inquisitor, cast in black or midnight blue, his head cloaked in the ever-present hood, briskly strolling in and out of the castle, surrounded at all times by his retinue of advisors and fighting crew.

Seeing him like this, Varric just shook his head and sighed. “Poor man is working himself to the bone…” he would grumble under his nose and go on polishing his Bianca’s grip.

And one night, after taking a peek under the Inquisitor’s hood and seeing his drawn gaunt face with sunken eyes and his unshaven beard, the dwarf snapped.

He hurried to the tavern, where he went straight to the Iron Bull’s merry company.

“Hey Bull,” Varric said without any preamble. “We must save our Trevelyan from those vipers of advisors, they are working him like a mule. Let’s gather our boys’ club and decide what to do about it.”

At a glance, the Qunari assessed the level of the dwarf’s distress and whistled to his lieutenant.

Instantly, Krem left her tankard and came up running to her boss.

“Fetch us Dorian,” commanded the Qunari and poured Varric some mead. “Meanwhile…” he offered the goblet to the dwarf, “Tell me what’s the rush.”

Varric shook his head.

“Have you seen lately our golden boy? He’s a mess!”

The grey giant just shrugged his bulk.

“So? With his missus gone, he’s just occupying himself with current affairs. Right on time, as well.”

Varric frowned.

“Did you see him practicing his bow lately?”

“No.”

“Tinkering at the smithery?”

“No.”

“Playing cards?”

“No…”

“Hanging out with Gatsi's repairs crew? Impersonating a mason or a carpenter to Gatsi's childish delight? Clearing out debris from the southern tower?”

“No…”

“Singing lewd songs? Smoking sheesha?”

“No. I see what you are getting at.”

“He’s a mess.”

“Right, you've made your point, Varric, stop panicking…”

A loud puff of smoke announced the hurried arrival of the third member of their boys’ club.

“Who’s panicking?” asked Dorian, entering the tavern room and approaching the two conspirators.

The Iron Bull waved his hand in the direction of the dwarf.

“He is!”

Varric exclaimed defensively:

“Whatever you say, Curly! I’m just saying we’ve got to do something about our Phoeb.”

Dorian’s face fell.

“What’s happened?”

The dwarf opened his mouth to start defending his thesis again, but the Iron Bull put it simply:

“With the current attitude, his Inquisitorialness will soon face a breakdown. Which we cannot allow, for all of us need his strength.”

“He’s working like a bronto!” interjected Varric, finally getting to say his final line.

The mage looked pensive for a moment, then he ventured:

“And did you ask Solas or Cole? They would know better…”

Varric and the Bull exchanged glances. They did not even think of asking those weirdos…

“Ahem…” Varric cleared his throat “Could you do that, Dorian? Please?”

The Tevinterian quickly put on his usual persona and twirled his moustache.

“Why not? Hang on here, chums.”

And he started to climb the stairs.

The garret was warm and dank and smelled of mice and torch smoke. It was poorly illuminated by the soft glow coming from below and all in all was a very secluded place.

It appeared empty, but a frail voice came from the darkest corner:

“You came to ask. Ask.”

Dorian squinted his eyes and just barely made out a silhouette to his right.

As he approached, the silhouette grew more distinct.

“Yes, I wanted to ask about the Inquisitor…” the mage said, approaching the figure in a wide-brimmed hat.

“Ask,” repeated the apparition and solidified into a pale kid with bad complexion.

But before Dorian could formulate his question, Cole said:

“It’s not because of what’s happened between you a month ago. It’s not your fault. He’s never had a second thought about it, too preoccupied with his love. All the rest is not important. He’s doing it for her, to have her safe, thoughts on her give him strength to go on. You do not have to worry. He is strong, and he cares for you all, in his way.”

The mage slowly nodded. These were all the answers he needed. Almost all.

“But can you tell me… How he feels… about… us?”

Cole shrugged his thin bird-like bones.

“There is no you and him. Not really. He’s just feeling friendly because of his generous nature... It’s all in your head. You feel alienated from your father and estranged from your mother. And there is a very strong prohibition in your head concerning girls… Someone forbade you… or it was you, yourself… I could lift it if you want…”

Dorian’s brows shot up in surprise.

“You’re telling me it’s just some self-imposed prohibition? How come?”

“Yours. Or your ancestors… It doesn’t matter, they are all here… Do you want it removed?”

Dorian hesitated. All his life he was fighting against imposed arrangements and other people’s notions on who or what he should be. All this only to discover that his uniqueness was something artificially imposed. And without it, that special and long-cherished quirk, would he not just become a part of the multi-million mindless cattle he had been despising all his life? This was too great a shift to be decided like this, on the flight; too large to consider in one set of time.

Hearing his thoughts, Cole uttered in his eerie voice:

“Is Phoebus a part of that mindless cattle to you as well? Why do you think that you with all your talents will become someone un-special, common?”

But the mage had enough of this, his mind refusing to take in more.

So, he left, shaking his head vigorously.

When he descended the stairs, the two other members of the “boys’ club” looked at him expectantly.

The Tevinterian said resolutely:

“Our damsel of steel makes the man happy, so let’s go find her.”

They split at the gate, choosing different directions to cover more ground. Being seasoned adventurers, they did not need any other directions to do the search, so they just nodded to one another and parted their ways.

Cole’s words were burning at the mage’s mind for a long time, until he found tale-telling remnants of a fire, now almost entirely scattered to the winds.

The Tevinterian was glad for this distraction and eagerly set to study the camp site.

Finally, he pronounced a spell, and a glowing line of steps led him toward a nearby forest.

From there, it was a matter of a few days to locate a much fresher camp-site, and from there –the woman who had kindled it.

She came from around a bush and greeted him with an ironic smile.

“Well-well, what an honor! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

The Tevinterian cast her an odd stare.

It just occurred to him that here, in the woods, she was alone, at his mercy… But Cole’s words burned again, popping up suddenly in his mind like little devils from a box. “ _There is no you and him. Not really_ …”

“Where is Blackwall?” he asked in a light manner, looking around.

Akasha sized him up appraisingly. She sensed that something was off with the man. So, she said cautiously:

“Oh, around. You wanted to see him?”

Dorian laughed derisively.

“That hobnailed peasant? Maker, no! Not in this lifetime…”

And he stood there looking at Akasha.

She felt weird.

“Then what is it?” she asked lightly, but growing very attentive to the man’s smallest expression.

Suddenly the mage briskly covered the distance between them and looked into her face with a piercing stare, as if searching for something.

“I’ve been wondering the same question over these past months,” he growled half-angry, half-despairing, “What is it that you have that attracts him so much? Why he loves you?”

Akasha carefully stepped back from such close proximity and said gently:

“He sees my spirit, and you only see my envelope. You look into the wrong place.”

Dorian frowned, angry.

“You make no sense!”

“You want to possess Phoebus, and that’s not love.”

The mage took a few angry steps back and forth.

“You know nothing of love! You’re just using him! Making him blind to what you really are!”

He went on blabbering angry nonsensical allegations, spewing out everything that had been boiling inside him for months. Akasha stood quietly, silently listening to the man’s ramblings. She was fully present, listening to him, like a mother would, not taking it personally, as if all his anger was just bouncing off her, losing its momentum far from her.

And when he finished, he suddenly burst in tears and sat on a tree stump, covering his face.

When the active phase of his crisis subsided, Akasha carefully drew closer, sat beside him and patiently waited out for the mage to calm down.

Then he stopped tousling his hair and cringing his face, she took his hand and stroked his head.

“I’ve been so foolish!” he mumbled, averting his eyes. “I’ve been used like a puppet by my own relatives…!”

Akasha stroked his head again and whispered:

“Now you know better and you don’t have to bear their mistakes for them… Not any longer…”

Dorian laughed through his tears and said:

“Seems like I’m talking to Cole again. Such a cryptic…”

Akasha smiled.

“Your spirit understands, that’s what matters… Now, do you want some water?”

She offered him her flask and waited for him to take a few avid gulps.

The Tevinterian returned her flask and said, finally meeting her gaze:

“I apologize for the things I’ve said, it’s so unworthy of me…”

The woman grinned.

“It’s good that you took it out here of all places, and not back in Skyhold, where all walls have ears.”

Dorian nodded and frowned, sobering up.

“Yes. But I apologize to you, Akasha. You don’t deserve such treatment.”

The corners of her lips turned upwards.

“No, I don’t. Now, I guess you’ve came not just to brighten my day, but also to fetch me back to Skyhold, right?”

The mage nodded.

“Nothing urgent, but still it would be better for you to show up there.”

He wanted to add something, but decided against it. To bring up Phoebus now would be too raw and awkward…

He helped the woman to pack and stood there, his head low again.

“Thank you for… listening me out…”

She nodded, acknowledging his apology and, understanding that it was not the end of his message, stood there waiting for continuation.

Dorian looked at her again and quietly asked:

“Do you remember that party of Wicked Grace, when I kissed you?”

Akasha smiled.

“You want to kiss me again just to understand what is it that you really feel?”

The mage frowned. He could understand such perspicacity coming from a spirit, such as Cole, but coming from a woman, this was uncanny.

She shrugged her shoulders and started arranging her belongings on her torso.

“Well, Dorian, if you want to kiss me again, first make me want to do it. Let’s go.”

They were traveling now for several days, and after the initial awkwardness dissipated, the Tevinterian came to appreciate his companion in many ways.

“You are indeed a beautiful woman…” he once said, while watching her comb her hair.

The twin-blader just sneered.

“Why, yes, my envelope is still nice enough.”

Dorian bit his lip.

“Akasha, I…”

“Just be yourself, don’t try anything artificial.”

He winced.

“But that’s the essence of the issue, I don’t know any more where I begin and where I end…”

The woman grinned mischievously.

“And what do you reckon, that smart, sharp-minded, charming, egotistical, playful mage, is he somewhere to be found? Or we will never see him again? Because I’d want to see him again. I like him, and many people like him, I’m sure.”

Her smile was playful, light, and very kindly.

Dorian laughed, relieved that the awkwardness was gone.

“Thank you, dearest Akasha, for reminding me that. Lately, I’ve been such a fool…”

He took her hand and kissed it gallantly and a bit playfully.

The woman grinned.

“Now, we are talking!”

He stepped closer still and looked her into her lucid green eyes.

“So, if I do something outrageous now, will you slap me?”

She laughed.

“Depends on how outrageous it will be…”

Then Dorian swiftly grabbed her into his arms, bore to the nearby stream, and feigned to throw her into it:

“Admit it, you’re a witch, an apostate, or an abomination!” he cried out in a mocking menacing tone, very skillfully imitating the Iron Bull’s basso.

The woman laughed and tried to slip out of his grip, squealing in delight.

They fooled around in such way for quite some time, twisting out of each other’s grasp, catching up again and fighting for a gulp of air, until, completely breathless, they fell on needle-covered ground under an old pine.

Without any ado, the mage covered her lips with his mouth and started kissing her, pressing himself tightly against her body.

The action grew quite heated, until Dorian accidentally brushed against the woman’s breast.

He looked her in the eyes, his gaze betraying his abashment.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “Got carried away…”

“Oh, so now you apologize!” exclaimed Akasha, laughing. “Not for wanting to throw me into the stream, but for this! Such a gentleman!”

She extracted herself from under him and set to brush her clothes and hair from pine needles.

Near the gate to Skyhold, Akasha turned to Dorian and said:

“Thanks, dear. You’ve been a charming companion for most of the time. It’s been a lot of fun. Take care on your way to self-discovery.”

She grinned, kissed him on the cheek and went inside.

Dorian stood there for some time, lost in thought, wondering at what he would have to face there, then braced himself and followed the twin-blader.

It turned out that almost everyone, except for Blackwall, happened to return to the home base just in time for a birthday celebration of Cullen. People were beyond themselves with glee for the possibility to break up with the routine and have some time off.

Akasha opened the door to her tower and stepped inside. She allowed a few moments to adjust to the low light seeping from dusty old painted glass windows, and then she felt that she was not alone. She looked around and found a dark shape lying on her bed.

Having come closer, she saw the Inquisitor, fast asleep on the covers, a pillow tightly hugged under his head.

Only now, Akasha spotted a tub of lukewarm water and a pile of fresh linen nearby.

She smiled tenderly and sat carefully on the edge of the bed, trying not to disturb the sleeping man.

He looked very tired, drawn, but utterly happy.

The woman stroked his hair and went to unpack, making every effort not to wake him up.

But after a few minutes she heard a sigh and stirring, coming from the bed.

He was coming back to his senses.

“Akasha!” he exclaimed cheerfully, rolling to his back and stretching his muscles. “You've returned!”

“Phoebus!” the woman came swiftly to him and jumped onto his torso.

The man grunted, but hugged her and they rolled together in a happy hug.

Akasha looked at him.

“You need an extreme spa and every cure imaginable!”

“That bad, huh?”

“Awful!”

He grinned.

“Now when I'm not as handsome, will you love me?”

The woman kissed him and purred:

“Dream it.”

“But you came back! So I assume that you finally remembered about me?”

She laughed.

“Nah! If not for your gallant chum, I'd be still out there in the woods…”

“My gallant chum?... Dorian you mean?”

“Precisely.”

Phoebus shook his head.

“My oh my… Was he at least polite with you?”

She shrugged her shoulders.

“Mostly. He's got a serious crush on you.”

The Inquisitor sighed, stroking the woman's side.

“Poor lad.”

Akasha set to trace her lover's features with her finger.

“Apparently, Cole had worked his magic on him, so the man faces up to a year of rough time, he has to live it through…”

Phoebus arched a brow.

“You mean I should be jealous?”

Akasha grinned as she was tracing the contour of his lips.

“Not yet… But you could help him with the transition…”

The man looked at her quizzically.

“You can set me on fire but I will not have sex with him ever again.”

Now was her turn to be surprised.

“‘Again?’ Meaning you did it with him? And who was on top?”

Phoebus winced.

“Meaning I don't want to be the object of his desire.”


End file.
